single motherhood (a threat)
it didn’t start like this.
not at first.
he was here.
pregnancy, birth, long nights.
he held her.
walked her.
slept next to us.
he knew her.
he watched her become a person.
he saw her first laugh,
her first trip to the ocean,
her whole face light up at the sound of his voice.
so no part of me believed he’d actually leave.
not even as a threat.
but he did use it like one.
casually at first—
like a warning,
like i should remember this was optional for him.
(bitch leave—you’re expensive)
and when he kept repeating it,
waiting for me to beg him to stay,
i didn’t.
i told him to go.
i dared him.
i made him.
he kept throwing the match,
so i lit the fire for him.
but even from afar,
he wouldn’t stop.
he kept sending his threats.
his instability.
his manipulation.
he kept weaponizing abandonment
as if distance meant he still had power.
and for a while, i flinched.
until i didn’t.
because once the silence really settled in—
once the chaos had space to breathe—
i finally saw it for what it was.
the hazard we had been living in.
the way violence had started to feel ordinary.
and once i saw it clearly,
i cut what was left.
clean.
quiet.
final.
and now?
it’s just me.
real single motherhood.
no co-parenting.
no weekends off.
no “let me know if you need anything.”
just silence.
and a stack of bills with my name on every line.
i stay awake on sleep so fucked up—
it should qualify as a human rights violation.
i clean houses with her strapped to my back.
log into law school with her screaming two feet away.
(climbing my legs)
but—
i stay steady.
i keep it clean.
i handle every detail,
every meltdown,
every deadline.
and still make sure she never feels the weight.
i carry everything.
and still remember the snacks.
i am always tired.
but always showing up.
always pushing through shit
that would break most grown men.
but i do it.
every day.
because she deserves a peaceful home,
a mother who doesn’t shatter,
a life not defined by the mid who left—
but by the woman who stayed.
and despite how heavy this is—
it’s still the softest, most beautiful thing i’ve ever known.
i wake up every morning
to an endless sleepover
with the love of my life.
and if i had to do it all again?
i’d still tell him to go.
sooner.
louder.
and without flinching.
