Fuck it I love you

Prologue

Lana's pov
I sat across from Jim, watching his reaction as I whispered the words that would change both our lives forever, "I'm pregnant." His eyes narrowed, and for a fleeting second, I thought I saw something warm, maybe even real, behind his tough facade. But that moment passed quickly, as he rose without a word, collecting his jacket and wallet from the table. A chill crept over me, settling heavily in my bones as I watched him slip out the door. He didn't look back.

By the next morning, I realized he had taken everything—my savings, my peace of mind, and any remaining hope I had for us. Alone and with no choice, I moved into a rundown trailer park just on the outskirts of town. I got a job at the only diner within walking distance, putting on a smile as I served coffee and pie to strangers while a new life grew inside me.

Months passed, and one night, while I was alone in the quiet darkness, she arrived. My daughter, EmmaRaine—my little light. As she grew, I found myself singing lullabies to soothe her cries, the songs becoming whispers of my own dreams and heartbreak. I'd stay up late, penning lyrics under the dim glow of the bedside lamp, humming melodies as I rocked her to sleep.

EmmaRaine grew up in that tiny trailer, learning to walk and talk as I scribbled song ideas between shifts at the diner. Each year, her personality blossomed—a shy, observant child who understood far more than her age suggested. And as I pieced together scraps of my broken dreams, EmmaRaine stood as a reminder of resilience.

Eventually, as I rose to fame and people came to know me as Lana Del Rey, I always made time for her. Through all the changes and stages of life, EmmaRaine was there—a piece of the journey I could never let go of.

Let me know if you'd like to continue with this story or focus on a particular stage in their journey.

As my career picked up, the world began to change around me. My songs played on every radio station, my face appeared on glossy magazine covers, and strangers knew my name. With every show and every dollar earned, I felt myself edging closer to a life I'd only dared to imagine back in that trailer park. But it wasn't just about me—I was determined to give EmmaRaine everything I had missed out on, to show her a world beyond our humble beginnings.

When Emma turned eight, I bought a house—no, a mansion, but not the type with golden gates and sprawling pools that screamed of excess. It was a quiet, beautiful place on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by trees that whispered secrets in the breeze. It was big enough for EmmaRaine to run through the halls and claim her own spaces, with gardens where she could chase fireflies and stargaze on warm summer nights.

On our first night there, we had a little housewarming, just the two of us. I lit candles, and we sprawled out on the living room floor, eating takeout pizza straight from the box and talking about all the things we'd do in this new home. Emma's eyes sparkled as she spoke about the garden she wanted to plant, the books she would read by the big window in her bedroom, and the puppy she dreamed of bringing home.

"Mom," she said, looking up at me with those wise eyes, "you gave me a castle."

I laughed, brushing her hair behind her ear. "No, baby. I just gave us a place to call ours." But deep down, I knew she was right. It may not have been the type of life I grew up with, but it was the one I always wanted for her.

In that big house, I watched EmmaRaine grow from a quiet, wide-eyed little girl into a confident, curious soul. She filled every room with her laughter, her art, and her dreams. She taught me things I'd never thought I'd know about parenting, love, and resilience. And in turn, I taught her the parts of my story that were still too raw to sing about, my struggles and sacrifices, the years of uncertainty, the quiet ache of abandonment that I never wanted her to feel.

As I continued to build my career, it felt good to know I was also building a world for EmmaRaine—a safe place she could call her own, filled with love and stability. Our mansion became a sanctuary, a haven where the two of us could shut out the world and just be.

As the years rolled on, I watched in awe as EmmaRaine blossomed into her own person, her talents emerging like wildflowers pushing through concrete. She was a whirlwind of energy, taking every opportunity to express herself—whether through dance, acting, or her own musical endeavors. It was a beautiful sight, watching her embrace the stage and command attention with the confidence I had once lacked.

She started taking dance classes at a local studio, where her grace and passion captivated everyone. I remember the first time she performed at the community center, wearing a sparkly costume that caught the light with every twirl. I sat in the front row, my heart swelling with pride as she danced like no one was watching, lost in her own world. I could see the spark in her eyes—the same one I felt when I first sang on stage, a mix of joy and exhilaration that only those who love to perform could understand.

At home, she would often borrow my old guitar, strumming the strings with a natural ease that amazed me. I listened as she wrote her own songs, tales of childhood dreams and young love. Her voice was different from mine—lighter, sweeter—but it held an intensity that drew people in. I encouraged her, giving her the freedom to explore her artistry, even as I hoped she wouldn't have to face the same struggles I had endured.

EmmaRaine soon found her way into local theater productions, earning praise for her performances and a growing reputation that caught the attention of talent scouts. I watched with a mix of admiration and a hint of protectiveness as she took on roles that showcased her range and depth. It was thrilling to see her name in lights, to hear her laughter echoing through the house after long rehearsals, full of excitement about the stories she was telling.

As she ventured into the world of music, I was both a proud mother and a mentor, sharing my experiences and lessons learned along the way. I took her to my shows, letting her see the behind-the-scenes magic, the thrill of being in front of an audience, the energy that pulsed through the air when the lights dimmed. She soaked it all in, her eyes wide with wonder as I introduced her to artists I admired, who became her inspirations as well.

Yet, I also tried to shield her from the darker side of fame—the pressures, the scrutiny, and the heartaches that often accompanied a career in the spotlight. I wanted her to enjoy the journey, to forge her own path without the weight of my past looming over her. I shared stories of my own struggles and the importance of resilience, hoping to equip her with the tools she would need as she navigated her way through the industry.

EmmaRaine was not just my daughter; she was a reflection of everything I had hoped for—a vibrant spirit forging her destiny in the world I had once longed to escape. And as she stepped into the spotlight, I couldn't help but feel a sense of fulfillment, knowing I had given her the chance to create a life filled with possibility, creativity, and love.