Drama Unwritten

Not busy. Not asleep. Not somewhere I haven't looked yet.

Gone.

I'd rather have you than have what's left of you.

I'd trade every photograph, every shirt that still smells like you, every tool, every receipt tucked into a drawer if it meant hearing your voice one more time.

Because going through your belongings, trying to decide which parts of you are worth keeping, has broken my heart in ways I never knew were possible.

How do you choose between a jacket that still remembers your shoulders, or a coffee mug your hands reached for every morning?

How do you reduce an entire life to boxes marked

keep.

donate.

throw away.

How do you pack away a father?

I keep reaching for you in ordinary moments.

The moments that don't seem important until there's no one left to share them with.

Tomorrow will still come.

The sun will still rise.

My phone will still light up.

But not because of you.

Never because of you.

And every tomorrow asks me to keep living in a world that kept me,

but took my father.

No crickets.

No barking dogs.

No passing cars.

Nothing.

The silence settled over the neighborhood like a heavy blanket.

Then the fog horn sounded.

The blast ripped through the darkness so violently that I physically jumped. It wasn't distant like it should have been. It sounded close enough to feel. The vibration seemed to travel through the ground beneath my feet and straight into my chest.

My stomach dropped instantly.

I didn't know why.

I just knew something was wrong.

The horn sounded again.

Long.

Deep.

Warning.

A cold feeling spread through me as I turned toward Juanita and Fallon.

They were gone.

I froze.

One second they had been standing beside me. The next, the street was empty.

I spun in a slow circle, searching the neighboring yards and darkened porches.

Nothing.

"Juanita?" I called.

No answer.

"Fallon?"

The silence that followed was worse than the horn.

The realization settled heavily over me.

I was alone.

Another blast echoed through the darkness.

My heart pounded so hard it hurt.

I wanted to run. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to get inside, to hide, to get somewhere safe. Yet my legs refused to move. It felt as though something beneath the earth had wrapped itself around my ankles, holding me firmly in place.

Then I heard it.

Thud.

The sound came from the side of my house.

Heavy.

Deliberate.

Thud.

I slowly turned my head toward the picnic table that sat near the side yard. The moonlight barely reached that corner of the property. Most of it was swallowed by darkness.

At first I couldn't see anything.

Then I saw the eyes.

Two pale reflections staring back at me.

My breath caught in my throat.

The fog horn sounded again, but I barely heard it.

I couldn't look away.

The shape rose slowly from the darkness until it towered over the picnic table. Its body blended so completely into the night that I couldn't make out where it began or ended. Only its eyes remained clear.

Then I noticed the horns.

My stomach twisted.

They curved upward from its head, silhouetted against the moonlight.

The thing stood on two legs.

Watching me.

Waiting.

Neither of us moved.

The world seemed to hold its breath.

Over the sound of my own heartbeat, I heard it exhale.

A deep, wet huff.

The creature launched itself forward.

The impact shook the ground.

Whatever held me in place finally released me and I ran.

The creature thundered behind me, each footstep striking the earth with enough force to make the ground tremble beneath my feet. I didn't dare look back. The porch was only a few yards away. All I had to do was reach the stairs.

Home.

Safety.

I practically threw myself onto the porch, stumbling as I climbed the steps. My lungs burned. My vision blurred from panic. Behind me, the creature continued its pursuit.

I ripped open the screen door and grabbed the knob to the front door.

Locked.

The realization hit me harder than the fear.

I twisted the knob again.

Nothing.

Locked.

"No."

I pounded my fists against the door.

"Mom!"

No answer.

"Dad!"

The creature's footsteps grew louder.

Closer.

I slammed both fists against the wood.

"Please!"

Tears blurred my vision.

"Open the door!"

The house remained silent.

No movement.

No voices.

Nothing.

Slowly, I turned away from the door.

The creature had stopped at the bottom of the porch steps.

It stood motionless in the darkness, staring up at me with those pale eyes.

Waiting.

The fog horn sounded one final time, its mournful cry stretching endlessly through the night.

I wasn't alone anymore.

A tiny flicker. A little clump of cells on a screen that felt too fragile to believe in.

But you made it further.

Further than before.

And suddenly, hope started sounding a little less like a lie.

I heard your heartbeat—

and it didn’t just echo in the room, it echoed in me.

That was the moment.

That was the moment I fell in love with someone I hadn’t even held yet.

I saw your feet— and I swear, the world stopped being something I had to survive,

and started being something I had to protect.

Now let me be honest—

pregnancy? is not beautiful.

It’s pain. It’s exhaustion. It’s pretending you're okay when your body feels like it’s falling apart in slow motion.

Nine months of counting kicks and second guessing every ache—

wondering is this it? is this labor? or just another false alarm trying to teach me patience I didn’t have?

But none of that mattered—

because I was waiting for you.

My daughter.

My reason.

And I’m sorry…

I’m so sorry you didn’t have your father.

I fought for you. I did.

But love— is not something you can beg out of someone.

And that guilt?

It sits heavy in me.

Because you deserve everything I couldn’t give you from the start.

But hear me—

that was never your fault.

You were never the problem.

You are—

my Bibble, my daughter, my perfect little lady.

June 15th. 8:44.

The world didn’t change for everyone—

but it changed for me.

I pushed. I screamed. I broke open just to bring you here.

And when they placed you in my arms—

everything finally made sense.

I counted your toes like they were proof you were real.

I looked into your eyes like they were something I’d been searching for my entire life.

And I made you a promise—

not quietly, not casually—

but with everything I had left in me.

I will always be there.

No matter what. No matter where.

I will protect you—

even from myself.

The first month?

I won’t lie— it broke me.

You cried every night and I felt like I was failing every second of it.

I was tired. I was scared. I was trying to keep us safe while falling apart at the same time.

But I got us out.

I chose you.

Every time— I will choose you.

And now we’re here.

Safe. Breathing. Trying.

But sometimes—

when you cry—

it still echoes a little too loud.

Like something in me remembers what it feels like to lose.

I hate that I don’t always know what you need.

So I pass you to grandma—

but I never leave.

I stay. I watch. I whisper—

you are perfect.

You are worth every fear I am still learning how to outgrow.

And I promise—

I will do better.

I will heal.

Because you deserve a version of me that isn’t afraid to love you out loud.

I always wanted children—

but I never thought I’d get to keep one.

And now I have you.

My baby.

My proof that even after loss—

something beautiful can stay.

I hate your stupid car. Yeah—that car. The one that sat outside while my chest tightened and I told myself “I’m just being paranoid.”

Because fear— fear doesn’t care about distance.

And neither did you.

I hate your family. I hate the way they smiled at me like I was temporary.

Like they already knew what you were capable of.

I hate that you used my daughter.

My daughter.

Do you understand what that means?

You didn’t just hurt me— you weaponized the one thing I would die for.

And I did nothing to you.

Nothing.

…

I hate your ex-girlfriend.

Not because she hurt you— but because you used her pain as permission to hurt me.

Maybe if she didn’t cheat you wouldn’t have learned how to punish someone for crimes they didn’t commit.

But that’s not an excuse— that’s a choice.

You chose that.

Every. Single. Time.

…

I hate that I loved you.

God— I hate that part the most.

Because I didn’t just love you— I gave you everything.

Everything.

And when I started to fall— when I needed you—

you stepped back and watched me hit the ground.

…

You said you’d be there.

You said that.

But you were the first one to run.

And I stayed.

I stayed.

I stayed until staying started to feel like dying.

…

But hear me now—

I’m proud of myself for leaving.

I’m proud that I chose fear over familiarity.

I’m proud that I walked away even when my heart was still begging me to stay.

…

Call me whatever you want.

Say I’m bitter. Say I’m crazy. Say I’m a bitch.

But I will never— never— regret calling the cops when you crossed that line.

You don’t get to threaten me and then rewrite the story.

You don’t get to be dangerous and then call me dramatic for surviving you.

…

You drank everything in that house— every bottle, every excuse.

And then you picked up a knife like fear was something you could hand to me.

Like love was supposed to survive that.

I could’ve ruined you.

Do you know that?

I could’ve taken everything from you.

But I didn’t.

Even shaking— even terrified—

I still had more love than hate.

And that— that was my breaking point.

Because I finally realized…

love shouldn’t look like that.

…

So I left.

And yeah— it felt like time stopped.

Like the world paused just to watch me choose myself.

…

And now?

Now I found someone who doesn’t make me shrink.

Someone who lets me breathe without asking permission.

Someone who doesn’t turn my past into a weapon.

He teaches me how to dance.

Do you hear how soft that sounds?

He sings to me.

And I don’t flinch.

…

Because love— real love— doesn’t feel like walking on glass hoping it doesn’t break under you.

Love doesn’t take your voice and call it “too much.”

Love doesn’t make you ask if you’re allowed to lock a door just to feel safe.

…

That wasn’t love.

That was control.

That was fear.

That was survival.

…

And I survived you.

…

So if you ever hear this—

if somehow my voice finds its way back to you—

I want you to remember this:

I loved you.

More than I should have. Longer than I should have.

But I left.

And that— that is something you will never take from me.

…

I don’t love you anymore.

But I remember you.

And that’s enough to make sure I never go back.