Baby Mama

14 the end

"Good work Elizabeth." My professor praised as he handed me back my paper.

I picked it up and glanced at the score. 94/100. A wave of tired satisfaction washed over me. It took me seven days to write this paper, seven days of late nights fueled by instant coffee and sheer willpower, seven days of stealing precious moments while Jilly napped or watched cartoons. I gave myself a mental pat on the back. This was for Jilly. This was for us.

"Okay class, for our next project you're going to be working on business plans. You choose what business, the risks, the gains, budgeting, profit, etc. The person with the most efficient and effective plan gets 100 points extra credit, everything you need to know in the class file. Any questions?"

There was a five-second wave of silence, punctuated only by the rustle of papers and students packing up. "Class dismissed."

I practically vaulted from my seat, gathering my things with a practiced efficiency born of constant haste. My eyes darted to the clock: 1:58 PM. Jilly. My heart gave a familiar pang of anxiety. I had to get to Julianna's daycare by 2:30 PM, thirty minutes away. If I was even a minute late, Ms. Kim, the daycare provider, would be there, arms crossed, with that look of thinly veiled disapproval. I didn't just need to rush; I needed to defy the laws of physics.

I darted out the room, a blur of motion through the crowded hallway, my backpack thudding against my spine. My old Honda Civic, a trusty but weary beast, waited in the student lot. I fumbled with my keys, cursing the slight tremor in my hands, before yanking open the door and practically falling into the driver's seat. The engine grumbled to life, and I slammed the gear into reverse, leaving a faint screech of tires as I peeled out of the parking lot. The speedometer crept higher than I liked, but the image of Jilly's wide, expectant eyes, waiting alone, spurred me on. Every traffic light felt like an eternity, every slow driver a personal affront. My stomach churned with a mixture of adrenaline and guilt. I was doing this for her, but sometimes, it felt like she paid the price for my ambition.

Jilly was standing outside with her daycare provider, Ms. Kim, her small hand clutched in the older woman's. My shoulders slumped. Too late. Again.

I slowly emerged from the car, pasting on an apologetic smile. "Hello, Ms. Kim. My class was running a little late. I'm so sorry."

She looked at me, her expression a familiar blend of disappointment and thinly veiled exasperation. "Mmm-hmm. I'm not an overnight daycare center, Liz. I've got other things to do."

"I know, and I'm sorry, again." The words felt hollow, even to me. I hated this. I hated being late. I hated the judgment in her eyes. But what choice did I have? Tuition wasn't free, and neither was rent. I scooped up Julianna, whose bright smile instantly melted a small chunk of my stress, and buckled her into her car seat. As I drove off, the tension in my jaw remained. I hated that I didn't have an easy, consistent schedule, that my life was a constant juggle, but I would never let David know that. He already thought he was some kind of superhero in my life just because he occasionally remembered he had a daughter.

When I finally pulled into the parking lot of my small, one-bedroom apartment complex, a profound sense of relief washed over me. The end of my day was finally here, and it was the best part of it: just me and Jilly. Julianna was already fast asleep, her head lolled against the car seat, so I would have to carry her in. I left my bookbag in the car, deciding it could wait until morning. My arms ached, but the warmth of her small body against mine was a comfort.

Inside, the apartment was blessedly quiet. The scent of last night's burnt toast still faintly lingered, but I ignored it. I tucked Jilly into her crib, pulling the blanket up to her chin, and watched her for a moment, tracing the soft curve of her cheek with my finger. My beautiful girl. She was my everything, the reason for every sacrifice, every late night, every anxious moment.