Chapter 5

Three months into her new job, Isabella finally moved into her own apartment. It wasn't much—a cramped one-bedroom in a building that had seen better decades, with radiators that clanked at odd hours and a refrigerator that hummed like it was trying to communicate. But it was hers. Hers and Lily's. No more sleeping on Grace's generosity, no more feeling like a burden.

The apartment came unfurnished, which meant Isabella spent her first night there sleeping on an air mattress with Lily in the bassinet beside her. They had exactly three plates, two forks, one pot, and a collection of mismatched cups from the dollar store. The walls were bare except for water stains. The carpet was brown—whether by design or years of neglect, Isabella couldn't tell.

It was perfect.

"What do you think, baby girl?" Isabella asked, holding Lily up to see their new kingdom. "It's not a penthouse, but it's ours."

Lily, now three months old and getting chubbier by the day, just drooled on Isabella's shoulder. The vote of confidence was underwhelming but appreciated.

Grace came over that first weekend with a housewarming gift—a used futon she'd found on Craigslist and somehow managed to transport with help from a guy she was casually seeing. "It's not exactly designer furniture, but it's better than an air mattress."

"It's perfect." Isabella helped her set it up, grateful beyond words. "Thank you. For everything. For letting us crash at your place, for this, for—"

"If you finish that sentence with another thank you, I'm taking the futon back." Grace flopped onto it dramatically. "Besides, now I can come visit and actually have somewhere to sit. This is purely selfish."

They ordered pizza—the cheapest kind, but after months of ramen and peanut butter sandwiches, it tasted like heaven. Lily slept through their celebration, oblivious to the milestone they were marking.

"How's work?" Grace asked, folding a paper plate because Isabella didn't have a trash can yet.

"Overwhelming. Good. I'm learning a lot." Isabella picked at her pizza. "Jennifer, my manager, she's been great. Really patient with me having to leave exactly at five for pickup. Some of the other employees have made comments though."

"What kind of comments?"

"Nothing direct. Just things like 'must be nice to have regular hours' or 'some of us don't have the luxury of leaving on time.'" Isabella shrugged like it didn't bother her, but it did. "I work through lunch. I'm always the first one there in the morning. But because I have to leave for childcare pickup, suddenly I'm not committed enough."

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"I know. But I can't afford to lose this job, so I smile and work twice as hard to prove them wrong."

Grace was quiet for a moment, studying her friend. "You've changed, Bella. You're stronger. Tougher."

"I had to be. For her." Isabella glanced at Lily, sleeping peacefully. "I look at her and I think about the woman I was when I married Damien. That girl wouldn't have survived this. She would have fallen apart."

"You did fall apart. But you put yourself back together. That's the difference."

Later that night, after Grace left and Lily was fed and changed and sleeping, Isabella sat on her new futon in her bare apartment and let herself feel the weight of what she'd accomplished. Six months ago, she'd been collapsing in the rain with nowhere to go. Now she had a home. A job. A healthy, growing baby. It wasn't much by most standards, but by hers, it was everything.

She pulled out her phone and did something she'd avoided for months—opened social media. She'd deleted all her accounts after the divorce, unable to handle the constant reminders of her public humiliation. But sometimes, late at night when she was too tired to sleep, curiosity got the better of her.

She searched Damien's name. The results came up immediately—hundreds of them. Photos from charity galas, business announcements, society pages. And in almost every photo, Sophia Laurent stood beside him, radiant and perfect.

One photo in particular made Isabella's breath catch. It was from some fundraiser last week. Damien in a tuxedo, Sophia in a dress that probably cost more than Isabella's annual salary, both of them smiling for the camera. But Damien's smile didn't reach his eyes. Isabella had spent five years studying his face, learning to read the micro-expressions he thought he hid so well. He looked miserable.

Good, she thought viciously. Then immediately felt guilty for thinking it.

She closed the browser and put her phone away. That was his life. This was hers. They were separate now, completely separate, and that's how it needed to stay.

Lily stirred in the bassinet, making the small sounds that meant she'd be hungry in about ten minutes. Isabella got up to prepare a bottle, falling back into the routine that had become second nature. Feed, burp, change, soothe, repeat. Every three hours, around the clock, no days off.

Some nights, the exhaustion was crushing. She'd stand in the kitchen at 2 AM, warming a bottle while Lily cried, and wonder how she'd survive another day. But then Lily would look at her with those dark eyes—Damien's eyes—and smile her gummy smile, and somehow Isabella would find the strength to keep going.

At four months, Lily started laughing. Real belly laughs that made her whole body shake. Isabella discovered this by accident while making funny faces during a particularly difficult diaper change. The sound was so pure, so joyful, that Isabella started crying while Lily kept laughing, creating this weird feedback loop of emotions.

"You think Mama's funny?" Isabella asked through tears. "Wait until you hear Auntie Grace do her chicken impression."

She recorded the laugh on her phone and watched it approximately forty times that day, showing it to anyone who would pay attention. Rosa watched it and got teary-eyed. Grace watched it and immediately did the chicken impression, making Lily laugh all over again. Even Jennifer at work watched it and smiled.

"She's beautiful," Jennifer said, handing back the phone. "You're doing a great job, Isabella."

The compliment settled warm in Isabella's chest. She was doing a good job. Not perfect—definitely not perfect—but good enough. Lily was healthy, hitting her milestones, clearly happy. That had to count for something.

The job itself was getting easier as Isabella learned the systems and built relationships with clients. She had a knack for social media marketing, understanding instinctively what would resonate with audiences. Jennifer noticed, giving her more responsibility and a small raise after three months.

"You're talented," Jennifer told her during their review. "I mean really talented. You could be running your own campaigns in a year or two if you keep this up."

The praise made Isabella uncomfortable—five years of being told she wasn't good enough had trained her to deflect compliments. But she forced herself to accept it with grace. "Thank you. I'm working hard."

"It shows. Keep it up."

The raise was only fifty cents an hour, but over a year, it meant nearly a thousand dollars more. Isabella immediately recalculated her budget, figuring out how to allocate the extra money. Maybe she could afford a real bed frame. Or save for emergencies. Or buy Lily some new clothes instead of relying entirely on hand-me-downs.

At Rosa's house, Lily was thriving. She loved the other children, especially the toddler named Tommy who would bring her toys and pat her head too hard while saying "baby, baby" on repeat. Rosa sent Isabella photos throughout the day—Lily during tummy time, Lily sleeping, Lily making faces at the mobile above the play mat.

"She's a good baby," Rosa told Isabella during pickup one day. "Happy, easy-going. You're raising her right."

"I'm trying. I honestly have no idea what I'm doing most of the time."

Rosa laughed, the sound warm and knowing. "None of us do. We just fake it and hope the kids don't notice." She paused, then asked carefully, "Her father still not in the picture?"

Isabella's shoulders tensed automatically. "No. He doesn't know she exists, and I plan to keep it that way."

"Forgive me for prying, but don't you think he has a right to know? If he's a good man—"

"He's not." The words came out sharper than Isabella intended. "I mean, he might have been once. Or maybe I just wanted to believe he was. But the man who destroyed me? Who humiliated me in front of hundreds of people? That man doesn't get to know about Lily. That man doesn't get to be her father."

Rosa studied her for a long moment. "Sometimes people surprise you. Sometimes they grow up and realize their mistakes."

"And sometimes they just keep being cruel." Isabella gathered Lily's things, suddenly desperate to leave. "I appreciate your concern, Rosa. Really. But this isn't negotiable. Lily's father is out of her life, and that's final."

The conversation nagged at Isabella all evening. Was she being selfish keeping Lily from Damien? Did he have a right to know he had a daughter? Would Lily resent her someday for making this choice?

She called Dr. Mitchell, her therapist, during Lily's evening nap.

"I keep wondering if I'm doing the right thing," Isabella admitted after explaining the conversation with Rosa. "What if Lily grows up and hates me for keeping her from her father?"

"Do you think Damien would be a good father to Lily?" Dr. Mitchell asked.

"I... I don't know. The Damien I married? No. He was cold and distant and incapable of love. But maybe he's changed. People can change, right?"

"They can. But change requires acknowledgment of wrong, genuine remorse, and consistent effort over time. Has Damien shown any of those things?"

Isabella thought about the photos she'd seen online. Damien at parties, Damien with Sophia, Damien living his best life without a backward glance at the wife he'd discarded.

"No. He hasn't even tried to find me. For all I know, he's forgotten I existed."

"Then you have your answer. You're not keeping Lily from a father who wants to know her. You're protecting her from a man who's shown no interest in either of you." Dr. Mitchell's voice gentled. "Isabella, you're allowed to make choices that prioritize your and Lily's safety and wellbeing. That's not selfish. That's good parenting."

The validation helped, but the guilt still lingered. Isabella started having dreams about Damien finding them, showing up demanding custody, taking Lily away. She'd wake up in a cold sweat, checking the bassinet to make sure her daughter was still there, still breathing, still hers.

At six months, Lily started eating solid foods. The first time Isabella fed her mashed sweet potato, Lily made a face of such dramatic disgust that Isabella laughed until she couldn't breathe. The second bite went better. By the third, Lily was grabbing for the spoon, wanting to feed herself despite having zero coordination.

"You're like your mama," Isabella said, wiping sweet potato out of Lily's hair. "Stubborn and independent and absolutely convinced you can do everything yourself."

Lily responded by smashing her hand into the remaining food and smearing it across her face with evident joy.

Bath time became Isabella's favorite part of the day. Lily loved the water, splashing and giggling while Isabella washed away the day's accumulated mess. Sometimes Isabella would just sit there watching her daughter play, marveling at how something so perfect could have come from something so broken.

"I'm going to tell you about your father someday," Isabella said one evening, soaping up Lily's chubby arms. "When you're old enough to understand. I'll tell you the truth—that he wasn't ready to be a daddy, that he made choices that hurt people, that his problems were never your fault." She paused, making sure Lily's head was supported. "But I'll also tell you that you got his eyes and his stubbornness and his ability to command a room without trying. The good parts. Because there were good parts, even if they were buried deep."

Lily splashed in response, soaking Isabella's shirt.

"Yeah, okay. Point taken. Less talking, more playing."

The holidays approached with a dread Isabella hadn't anticipated. Last Thanksgiving, she'd been seven months pregnant and working double shifts to save money. Last Christmas, she'd been too exhausted with a newborn to even register the date. But this year, Lily was six months old, aware enough to notice lights and colors and excitement.

Isabella wanted to give her daughter a real Christmas. Nothing extravagant—she couldn't afford extravagant—but something. Presents to unwrap, decorations to see, the feeling of magic that every child deserved.

She started saving, putting away twenty dollars from each paycheck. Grace contributed too, despite Isabella's protests. "It's for Lily," Grace insisted. "You can't stop me from spoiling my niece."

Rosa donated a small artificial tree someone had left at her house years ago. "It's yours if you want it. Been in my garage collecting dust."

Isabella set it up in the corner of her apartment, decorating it with homemade ornaments and a string of lights from the dollar store. It was crooked and sparse and absolutely perfect.

"What do you think?" Isabella asked Lily, holding her up to see the tree. Lily reached out, mesmerized by the colored lights, making grabby hands at the shiny ornaments.

"Yeah, Mama thinks it's pretty too."

She took a photo and almost sent it to Damien before remembering he didn't know Lily existed. Before remembering he'd moved on completely, building a life that didn't include either of them.

The urge to reach out hit her at weird times. When Lily did something particularly cute. When she had questions about milestones and development. When she was so exhausted she could barely function and just wanted someone to share the burden with.

But she never did. Every time she pulled up his contact information—still saved in her phone despite everything—she remembered the stage, the papers, the kiss with Sophia while Isabella's world ended. She remembered his exact words: "This marriage was a mistake. You were a mistake."

If she was a mistake, then what did that make their daughter?

No. Lily deserved better than a father who might see her as a mistake too.

At seven months, Lily started army-crawling. Isabella discovered this when she left her on the play mat to grab laundry and came back to find Lily halfway across the room, looking immensely proud of herself.

"Oh no. Oh no no no." Isabella scooped her up, suddenly realizing how completely unprepared her apartment was for a mobile baby. "We need baby gates. And outlet covers. And probably a PhD in child-proofing."

She spent the next weekend crawling around on the floor, seeing the apartment from Lily's perspective. Everything became a potential hazard—loose cords, sharp corners, small objects that could be choking hazards. Isabella baby-proofed on a budget, using rolled towels as bumpers and tucking dangerous items into high cabinets.

"This is exhausting," she told Grace, who'd come over to help. "How do people do this?"

"One day at a time. Which you're excellent at, in case you haven't noticed."

That night, watching Lily sleep after another successful day of not dying or getting hurt, Isabella felt something shift in her chest. She'd spent so long surviving, pushing through each day on pure determination, that she hadn't noticed when surviving became living.

She had a home. A job she was good at. A daughter who was happy and healthy. Friends who loved her. A therapist helping her heal. She was paying her bills on time. Building a savings account. Making plans for the future.

She was okay. Actually okay, not just pretending.

The realization made her cry, but these were different tears than the ones she'd shed in the motel room or the hospital or the night Damien destroyed her. These were tears of relief, of gratitude, of cautious hope that maybe the worst was behind her.

By eight months, Lily was pulling herself up on furniture, cruising along the couch with determination that suggested walking wasn't far behind. Isabella had mixed feelings about this development—proud of Lily's progress but terrified of the increased injury potential.

"Slow down," she'd say whenever Lily attempted something particularly ambitious. "You don't have to grow up so fast."

But Lily didn't listen, because Lily was her mother's daughter. Stubborn, determined, completely convinced she could do anything she set her mind to.

Work was going well. Jennifer promoted Isabella to Social Media Coordinator, which came with more responsibility and another small raise. It wasn't glamorous—Isabella spent her days creating content calendars and responding to customer comments—but it was steady. Reliable. Something she could build on.

"You have a good eye for this," Jennifer told her during their weekly check-in. "Have you thought about taking some online courses? Building your skills? We could probably get the company to cover some of the cost."

Isabella had thought about it. Late at night when Lily was sleeping and the apartment was quiet, she'd research programs and certifications, imagining a future where she wasn't just surviving but thriving. Where she could give Lily more than hand-me-downs and dollar store toys.

"I'd love that," she said. "If the company's willing to invest."

"Consider it done. Send me a list of courses you're interested in, and we'll make it happen."

Isabella started an online digital marketing certification program, studying during Lily's naps and after bedtime. It meant less sleep and more coffee, but it also meant building toward something. Creating opportunities. Proving she was more than the woman Damien had thrown away.

The holidays arrived with their promise of cheer and their reminder of everything Isabella had lost. Last year at this time, she'd still been married—miserable, but married. She'd attended elaborate parties wearing designer gowns, smiled for cameras, pretended her life was perfect.

This year, she attended exactly one holiday party—a small gathering at Rosa's house with the other daycare families. She wore jeans and a sweater from Target. She ate potluck casseroles and drank cheap wine while Lily played with the other children.

It was perfect.

"This is my first real Christmas," Isabella told Rosa, watching Lily try to steal another baby's toy. "Last year doesn't count. I was too new at everything to enjoy it."

"And this year?"

"This year I'm grateful. For all of this. For Lily being healthy. For having friends and a job and an apartment that doesn't leak. For making it through the hardest year of my life."

Rosa squeezed her hand. "You've done more than make it through. You've built something real. Something good."

Christmas morning, Isabella woke before Lily—a rare occurrence—and set up the presents she'd carefully selected. Nothing expensive. Board books from the thrift store. A used activity cube that still worked perfectly. A stuffed elephant Grace had found at a yard sale. Clothes Lily actually needed.

When Lily woke and saw the tree with presents underneath, her face lit up with pure joy. She didn't care that the gifts were secondhand or that the wrapping paper came from the dollar store. She just cared about the excitement of unwrapping, the discovery of what was inside.

Isabella took approximately three hundred photos, wanting to remember this moment forever. Their first real Christmas. The first of many.

She called Grace to say thank you for the gifts she'd sent. "You didn't have to do this."

"I wanted to. Besides, watching you open that package is my present. So technically you're doing me a favor."

They FaceTimed so Grace could watch Lily play with her new toys. "She's getting so big, Bella. I can't believe she's almost one."

Almost one. The phrase hit Isabella harder than expected. In a few weeks, Lily would turn one year old. One year since that agonizing labor. One year since Isabella's life had changed completely. One year of surviving and struggling and somehow making it work.

"I need to plan a party," Isabella said suddenly. "Nothing big. Just us and Rosa and maybe some of the other daycare kids. But something to mark the occasion."

"I'll bring the cake," Grace offered immediately. "And decorations. And my camera because this needs to be documented."

Isabella started planning, getting excited despite herself. She'd survived Lily's first year. They both had. That deserved celebration.

At nine months, Lily started babbling constantly. Not words exactly, but sounds that seemed purposeful. "Mama" happened occasionally, though Isabella suspected it was random rather than intentional. Still, every time Lily said it, Isabella's heart swelled three sizes.

"That's right, baby girl. Mama. I'm your mama, and you're my whole world."

Lily responded with a string of gibberish that might have been agreement or might have been a demand for more Cheerios. Hard to tell.

The month before Lily's first birthday, Isabella took her for her nine-month checkup. The pediatrician—a kind older woman at the free clinic—pronounced Lily healthy and right on track for all her milestones.

"You're doing a great job," Dr. Kumar said, reviewing the growth chart. "She's happy, healthy, clearly well-cared for. Whatever you're doing, keep doing it."

The validation made Isabella tear up right there in the exam room. She'd spent so many nights worried she was screwing everything up, that she wasn't enough, that Lily deserved better.

"I just want her to be okay," Isabella managed to say.

"She's more than okay. And so are you." Dr. Kumar handed her tissues. "Being a single parent is hard. You're allowed to be proud of yourself for managing it."

That night, Isabella wrote in the journal Dr. Mitchell had encouraged her to keep:

"Lily had her nine-month checkup today. Dr. Kumar said we're both doing great. I cried in her office like an idiot, but they were good tears. Grateful tears.

I look at pictures of myself from a year ago—pregnant, scared, living in that motel room—and I barely recognize that girl. She was so broken. So convinced she was worthless because one man said she was.

I'm not that girl anymore. I'm Lily's mother. I'm a social media coordinator working on my certification. I'm someone who pays her bills and keeps a tiny human alive. I'm stronger than I ever thought possible.

Damien was wrong about me. His mother was wrong. Every person who ever made me feel small was wrong.

I'm enough. I've always been enough. I just needed to believe it."

At ten months, Lily took her first steps. Three wobbly, unsteady steps from the couch to Isabella's waiting arms before falling on her diaper-padded bottom. Isabella screamed so loud she scared Lily into crying, then had to comfort her while simultaneously cheering.

"You did it! You walked! Oh my God, Grace, she walked!" Isabella called her best friend immediately, barely coherent with excitement.

"That's amazing! Did you get it on video?"

"No, it happened too fast, but I'm going to stand here all night until she does it again so I can record it."

She didn't have to wait all night. Ten minutes later, Lily tried again, making it four steps this time. Isabella recorded it with shaking hands, crying while she narrated.

"That's my girl. That's my strong, brave, amazing girl."

She watched the video seventeen times before finally putting Lily to bed that night. Then she watched it three more times, marveling at how much had changed in ten months. The tiny newborn who'd barely been able to hold her head up was now walking. Growing. Becoming her own person.

Time was moving too fast and not fast enough simultaneously. Isabella wanted to freeze these moments—Lily's first laugh, first steps, first "mama." But she also couldn't wait to see who Lily would become, what kind of person she'd grow into.

The weeks leading up to Lily's first birthday were a blur of preparations. Isabella had a budget of exactly one hundred dollars for the party, which meant creativity and careful planning. She made decorations herself—paper streamers and homemade banners. She ordered a small cake from the grocery store bakery. She invited Rosa and the other daycare families, Grace, Jennifer from work, Dr. Mitchell.

It wasn't fancy. It wasn't the kind of first birthday party wealthy people threw with professional photographers and elaborate themes. But it was full of love, and that mattered more.

The morning of Lily's birthday, Isabella woke before dawn. She crept over to the crib where Lily still slept, watching her daughter breathe in that peaceful way only sleeping children managed.

"Happy birthday, baby girl," Isabella whispered. "One year ago today, you made me a mama. You saved my life. You gave me a reason to keep fighting when everything felt impossible."

She thought about everything they'd been through in twelve months. The struggles and the victories. The nights when Isabella didn't think she'd make it through. The mornings when Lily's smile made everything worth it.

They'd survived. More than survived—they'd built something real.

Lily stirred, her eyes blinking open. When she saw Isabella, her face broke into the biggest smile.

"Mama," she said clearly. Definitely not random this time. Definitely intentional.

Isabella's vision blurred with tears. "Yeah, baby. Mama. I'm your mama, and you're my everything."

She lifted Lily from the crib, holding her close, breathing in that baby smell that wouldn't last much longer.

"Happy birthday, Lily Grace. Welcome to year two. It's going to be amazing."

And standing there in their small apartment that was slowly becoming a home, with her daughter in her arms and the sun rising outside, Isabella finally believed they were going to be okay.

More than okay.

They were going to be happy.