Act Like You Love Me (Jessica) novel Chapter 61

Chapter 61

Chapter 61

Jessica’s POV

Six Years Later

“Adrian, honey, are you really going to wear that?”

My five-year-old was standing in front of the mirror, looking at himself like he’d just dropped the hottest fashion line of the decade.

He was a complete eyesore in the early morning light.

He’d pulled on neon-green cargo shorts and an orange T-shirt with a skateboarding dinosaur, but he didn’t stop there.

He had mismatched socks-stripes on the left, polka dots on the right, and he’d topped the whole disaster off with a rainbow tie-dye hoodie, zipped right to his chin.

It was sixty degrees outside, a perfectly mild spring morning, but he looked like a walking explosion.

Honestly, if he stood near a highway, he’d probably cause a ten-car pileup just from the sheer glare of his outfit.

I stood in the doorway with my arms crossed, my “we’re going to be late” lecture dying in my throat.

He looked so damn proud of himself.

“Yes, Momma. I love it,” he declared, zipping the hoodie with finality and striking a pose, hands on hips like a tiny superhero.

I sighed, and looked at the clock. If I tried to force him to change now, he’d throw a fit, we’d both end up in tears, and he’d definitely miss the bus.

I reached out, and ruffled his messy dark hair.

“Fine, you little fashion icon. But don’t come crying to me when your friends say you look like a bag of Skittles.”

I teased him as I did a quick sweep of the room, grabbing a stray shirt here and a toy there to keep the floor from disappearing.

He giggled, a high-pitched, toothy sound that managed to cut through my morning fog.

“Skittles are yummy, Momma,” he declared.

I couldn’t exactly argue with that logic.

While he was busy admiring his neon masterpiece in the mirror, I dropped to my knees by his backpack for the daily inventory check.

Lunch money? Check. Water bottle? Tightly sealed. I found his favorite pencil buried at the bottom, the rocket-ship eraser worn down to a nub.

“Did you finish that math worksheet? I’m so sorry I couldn’t help you with it last night, baby. Momma was completely overworked after that double shift.”

Adrian slipped his feet into his boots, and stomped down to secure the fit. He shot me a grin that reached his eyes.

“It’s okay, momma. I know you were tired and busy,” he said, his voice surprisingly mature for a five-year-old. “I did it myself. Your previous guidance helped me. I remembered the trick you showed me with the fingers.”

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Chapter 61

My eyes watered instantly, and a familiar clench took hold of my chest.

When I had made the decision to keep him, huddled in that hospital bed in Pittsburgh with a broken heart and an empty bank account, I had been terrified.

For weeks, I was a ghost of myself, paralyzed by the choice while I drowned in “what-ifs”.

But the second he let out that first, thin cry in the hospital, the world suddenly made sense, and I realized keeping him was the best decision I’d ever made.

I hadn’t just given birth to a son; I’d given birth to my own best friend.

My life over the last few years? It’s been anything but a fairy tale.

There were nights I came home from waitressing with feet so swollen I could barely walk, only to sit at the kitchen table until 3:00 AM finishing my online degree.

There were months where I looked at the rent bill and then at the pantry, wondering how to make the math work.

But I made it work. I made sure he never knew what “scraping by” felt like.

He was the reason I took those tiny, soul-sucking journalism gigs on the side; he was the reason I didn’t take “no” for an answer until I landed the job at the paper.

I’d built a life out of nothing-no, not out of nothing. I’d built it out of him.

He was the fuel that pushed me beyond my limits, proving to the world, and to myself that I could attain the success I wanted without dependency on someone else’s sympathy.

“Come here, you cutie patootie,” I growled playfully, pulling him into my arms and littering his chubby cheeks with kisses.

He squealed, squirming like an eel as he tried to wiggle out of my arms, but I held him tighter.

“Momma! Stop!” he squealed, though he was grinning. “I have to eat before the bus comes!”

I held on for just one more second, breathing in the smell of baby shampoo and laundry detergent, before finally letting go.

When he looked up at me, my chest hit a familiar snag. His eyes, that specific deep shade of brown-were so familiar it hurt. They were Aaron’s eyes.

Every time Adrian looked at me with that serious, earnest expression, it was like a ghost was staring back at me from a different life.

I felt that old, sharp sting in my throat, but I forced a smile and pushed the memory back into its box. I’d had six years of practice doing that.

“I love you so much,” I said, squishing his face between my hands until his cheeks puffed out. “Don’t you ever forget it.”

He beamed, his head bobbing up and down so fast I thought he might tip over. “I love you more, Momma!”

I chuckled, wiggling my eyebrows mischievously. This was our ritual, the daily battle for the last word in our love story.

“Oh! You sure about that? You think you love me more than I love you? I love you more, more, more, more, more…

He giggled, launching into a spirited challenge of “infinity” and “to the moon and back.”

Eventually, I “gave up” just to see the triumphant spark in his eyes, and we moved into the kitchen.

I hoisted him up onto the island stool and served him his favorite: avocado toast sprinkled with a little sea salt and a tall

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Chapter 61

glass of milk.

“Eat carefully, Adrian. I don’t want you spilling anything on that… unique outfit. You’ll dent the style

While he ate, I moved with practiced speed to pack his lunch-sliced apples, a turkey sandwich with the crusts cut off, and a small juice box.

“Momma?”

I hummed a response, my back to him as I tucked a napkin into his bag.

“Would you be at my game on Saturday?”

I froze, my hands hovering over the lunch bag.

Slowly, I turned to look at him. He was poking at a piece of avocado, his shoulders slightly hunched.

The look of worry and lingering sadness in his eyes broke my heart into a million pieces.

I’d missed his basketball tournament twice now because of mandatory weekend shifts at the firm, and I promised myself— and him that I wouldn’t miss any more of these, but my Saturday was already a disaster.

–

I had a hard deadline for a feature article and a double shift at the café just to make sure the rent check didn’t bounce.

But then I looked at him. I saw those big, expectant eyes waiting for me to say yes, and the “no” died in my throat. I couldn’t do it to him. Not again.

For the happiness of my baby, the world could wait.

I decided to play along for a second, making a sad, exaggerated pout and sighing deeply.

“Oh, honey… I’m so sorry…”

His face fell, but he didn’t complain. He just looked down at his milk.

“It’s okay, mom. I know you have to work so we can have a good life.”

The sheer selflessness in his voice nearly crushed my soul. I let the tension linger for just a beat longer before I laughed and rushed over to him.

I pulled him into a full embrace.

“I’m kidding! I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

His eyes lit up like Christmas morning.

“Really? For real?”

I nodded firmly.

“For real. I’ll be the loudest one in the bleachers. You’ll probably be embarrassed by how much I’m cheering.”

He was so happy he threw his arms around my neck, nearly knocking his milk over.

“Thank you, momma! Thank you!” he whispered into my ear.

I just held him, a bittersweet smile on my face.

Honk! Honk!

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Chapter 61

The yellow school bus pulled up to the curb outside.

“Okay, okay, time to go!” I gently peeled his arms back and grabbed his backpack.

Once again, I took in his neon-orange and lime-green ensemble and shook my head.

I could only hope his teachers understood that I had absolutely no creative control over his wardrobe today.

I led him out to the street where the bus waited, the engine idling loudly. Bennett, the driver, waved at us from his seat.

Over the years, I’d grown fond of the cheerful, kind man who took such good care of the neighborhood kids.

I waved back, giving him a “Happy Thursday Morning” look.

“Be a good boy, Adrian. Listen to your teachers,” I said, helping him navigate the steep steps of the bus with his heavy bag.

“I will! Bye, momma!”

“Bennett, be careful with them!” I called out.

“Always am, Jessica!” he shouted back, tipping his hat before the doors hissed shut.

I stood on the sidewalk, waving at the windows as the bus began to pull away.

I saw Adrian’s head pop up near the back, already surrounded by a group of friends who were pointing at his bright jacket.

“Have a great day, kids!” I shouted through the window, and a few of them actually broke away from their huddle to wave back with all the energy only five-year-olds have.

As the bus disappeared around the corner, I let out a long, shaky breath.

If there was one thing I was profoundly grateful for, it was that I had given birth to a bold boy.

Unlike the girl I had been: timid, shy, and easily stepped on-Adrian knew exactly who he was.

He knew he was handsome, he knew he was intelligent, and he was a force to be reckoned with on the basketball court.

He was confident, fierce, and he fought back when he needed to. He was so much like his father it was terrifying.

I wondered how much more difficult my life would have been if I’d given birth to a child as quiet as I once was. But Adrian was a leader.

He was a Tyrone through and through, even if he didn’t know the name.,

I sighed, turning back toward the house. I had an hour to get ready for my own day, and a mountain of work to climb before Saturday.

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13:19 Mon, Jan 12