The pills sat heavy in my hand, the weight of my thoughts pressing down on me like a vice. I stared at them, my chest tight and my mind racing. Just five, I thought. Just enough to quiet it all.
The door creaked open, and her voice cut through the haze.
“Pops?”
I turned to see Hadassah standing there, her hair damp from the rain in her jungle of a room. Her eyes darted from the pills in my hand to my face, her expression unreadable.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly, tilting her head. “Can we play?”
Her words stopped me cold. The pills slipped from my hand, falling to the floor. I stared at her, her steady gaze grounding me in a way I hadn’t felt in weeks.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry as sandpaper. “Yeah, baby,” I finally said, my voice trembling. “We can play.”
I picked up the scattered pills, each one feeling heavier than before. My hands shook as I twisted the cap back onto the bottle and tucked it away in the cabinet. With a deep breath, I turned back to her.
Her face brightened with a small smile, and she reached out for my hand. “Let’s go,” she said, pulling me toward her jungle of a room.
The storm had eased by the time we sat on the couch, controllers in hand and Madden loaded on the screen. Her laughter echoed around us as she scored against me, her focus sharp and her joy contagious.
“Pops, you’re trash at this!” she teased, leaning into me as the scoreboard flashed her victory.
I laughed despite myself, the tension in my chest easing little by little. For the first time in what felt like forever, the storm inside me quieted too.
In that moment, playing with my baby, I realized she was my anchor. And I wasn’t going anywhere.
