I haven’t written in this blog for a while.
This week my former little makeshift family got back together for a few hours and just like that it’s gone again.
I thought I was fine. I thought I was ready. I’d been good to go for months. He didn’t cross my mind much anymore. I didn’t really miss him.

I saw him Thursday night and Friday morning.

The look on Four Year Old’s face when she saw him melted my heart. She was so happy. She loves him still. He’s her knight and shining armor.

I didn’t really think about it much, but it was the first time we’d seen him since he left.
That realization sunk in when he hugged me and I reflexively cringed away.
It’s been over a year and that wound tore wide open the second he touched me.

He’s caused both Four Year Old and I so much pain. She still loves him with all her heart. Watching them play together was the most beautiful and heartwarming thing I had seen in the past year.

And as much as I’d like it to be a daily occurrence, it won’t happen. It doesn’t matter how much I cross my fingers and pray.

But I had to tell him that if she didn’t handle this visit well, this was it. No more. No more visits. Momma bear must protect baby bear.

I nearly threw up the second I sent that message because I don’t want to take away something that makes us both so happy.
But when the happy times parted by year-long periods of anguish, I have to step up.
He doesn’t love me. He probably never did. That hurts just enough on it’s own. But having to hurt and keep her away from him because, at the root of it, he doesn’t love me, hurts in a way I didn’t know was possible.

I guess it didn’t die for me like I thought it had.

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