When late May came around, I was getting ready to finish yet another year of teaching. It was chilling how much had changed in the past year, how much I have grown, and how much I’ve learned about my heart and how it beat.

On Sunday morning, Mama always headed off to church. That was something she realized about herself—no matter if she was still with Dad or not, she held on to her faith. Sometimes I went with her, and other times, I stayed and prayed on my own.

Over the past year, I learned that faith wasn’t a building, yet it was a place in one’s heart.

I could go to a church and be surrounded by others and join them in prayer, or I could close my eyes in my own solitude and find peace. Both ways were worthy. Both ways were right.

There wasn’t one correct way to believe—there were a million possibilities out there.

That was one of my favorite discoveries. I didn’t have to be a perfect Christian in order to exist in the world.

When Mother’s Day came around, I went to church with Mama and sat in the pew holding her hand tight in mine. Throughout my life, there were a few hard days. Days where even when I tried to be happy, my heart still cracked, and Mother’s Day was one of those. For others, it stood as a celebration. For me, it spoke of loss and failure.

I’d somewhat come to terms with the fact I wouldn’t be one who had children. It wasn’t in my cards, and I’d learned to accept that.

But still, some days were harder than others.

Mother’s Day was one of them.

“That was a beautiful service,” Mama told me as we walked home from the church with our arms linked.

“It was.”

She smiled my way and tilted her head. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just tired. Judy is driving in tonight for dinner, so I think I’ll just grab a nap before she gets here.”

“Sounds like a perfect plan.” She took my hand in hers and squeezed it. “Today’s a tough one for you?”

“Yes, it is.”

She squeezed my hand again and didn’t say another word. Though her comfort was enough.

That was all I ever wanted from Mama—her comfort.

As we walked up the steps to my apartment, and I unlocked the door, my eyes watered over, and I gasped as I looked around.

Scattered throughout the living room and dining room were bouquets of red roses.

Seven to be exact.

“Mama…” I started.

She shook her head. “They aren’t from me.”

I walked over to the roses sitting on the coffee table and grabbed the note attached to them.

Instant tears fell from my eyes.

Because there is no such thing as an “almost” mother.

Seven bouquets from your seven angels.

Happy Mother’s Day, Princess.

My heart skipped as I read how the card was signed.

- Emerson, Jamie, Karla, Michael, Jaxon, Phillip, Steven, and Oscar.

There was one bouquet from each child I’d lost.

All of my babies.

All of my loves.

Mama moved over to me and read the words on the letter. “Oh, honey,” she breathed out, just as stunned as I had been. “He’s the one.”

He was so much more than the one. Even though we were apart, he still controlled my heartbeats.

Just then, there was a knock on the front door, and when I opened it, everything inside me began to heal completely.

“Hi,” Jackson whispered, holding a bouquet of roses in his hands. Watson sat right beside him, wagging his tail back and forth.

“Hi,” I replied, feeling my body tremble.

“I, uh…” He brushed his hand against the back of his neck. “I’ve seen so many places over the past few months. I’ve witnessed a million sunrises, and I’ve seen the sun set. There were thousands of roads I’ve driven, and no matter which one I took, no matter if I went left or right, north or south, it seemed that they all led me right back to you.”

“Jackson…” I started, but the tears and love in my soul made my words fade away.

“You’re my world, Gracelyn Mae,” he told me, moving in closer. Mama removed the roses from his hold, and Jackson took my hands into his. “You’re my faith. You’re my hope. You’re my true religion. I’m a better man because you exist. I’m me because of you. And if you’d allow it, I’d love to spend the rest of my life worshipping your heartbeats.”

I held his hands in mine and moved in close. My head tilted up, and I released a small breath as my eyes locked with his. A small, tiny, breath.

My mouth grazed across his, and I whispered against his lips. “Worship me, and I’ll worship you.”

Then he kissed me.

He kissed me slowly, gently, and filled with love.

He didn’t even have to say it, but I felt our love. I felt it shoot through my body as his lips pressed against mine. Our souls intermixed, and our flames were infinite.

It was simple, the way we loved. We loved the scars of our past, and we loved the unknown of our future. We loved the mistakes. We loved the celebrations. We loved our darkness, and we loved the light.

Our connection wasn’t something built around hurt anymore.

We existed only on hope.

I didn’t expect Jackson Emery.

Out of all the prayers I’d prayed, I never thought I’d receive a man like him. We didn’t believe in the same God, but still, that was okay. We didn’t always love the same things, but still, that was okay. We didn’t always agree, but still…that was okay.

Because love—real love—didn’t mean always holding the same beliefs. It didn’t mean we had to see eye to eye on every subject. Yet what it did mean, what real love stood for was a mutual understanding. A respect for one another’s dreams and hopes and wishes and fears.

Jackson respected my choice to pray to God while I respected his not to do the same.

We took the time to learn how each of our hearts beat, and in that journey, we learned that oftentimes, in the most important moments of the night, that our hearts? Our hearts beat in sync.

From that point on, we were inseparable. We were committed to our future and learning to let go of our past. I was thankful for all my blessings I didn’t even expect to kiss my life. The blessings I was too blind to even realize were coming my way. That was a lesson I had to learn over time. The lesson that sometimes for the blessings to arrive, one had to get out of their own way.

Everything happened exactly as it had to unfold. Even the hard days led me to where I needed to be. All the dots connected, I just couldn’t see it while I was walking down my path. Without Finn betraying me, I would’ve never crashed into Chester, Georgia, all those months before. Without all the heartbreak, I would’ve never known what love was truly supposed to feel like.

For that, I was thankful. For the ups and downs, for the wrongs and rights, for the heart breaking and healing. I was thankful for it all, and each night as I lay down to sleep, I’d closed my eyes and softly speak my prayers.

Dear God, it’s me, Gracelyn Mae…

53

Jackson

“My dad’s retiring,” Grace stated over dinner one night in late June. “Judy is taking over, and she’s preaching for the first time in front of the church this Sunday. Will you come down with me?”

“Of course.”

That was a given. When something was important to Grace, it was important to me. We hadn’t been back to Chester in months, and I’d be lying if I said returning wasn’t hard for me. That town stood for a lot of demons to me but showing up with Grace’s hand in mine made it a bit easier to swallow down.

Loretta came with us because even though she wasn’t looking forward to seeing Samuel, she loved her daughter enough to get past her discomfort.

We arrived at the church Sunday morning, and I could see Loretta’s nerves as we walked up the steps. I placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly. “You good?”

She nodded. “Just taking small breaths.”

Samuel was standing at the door greeting people, and when we walked up, I watched his eyes dance across Loretta’s figure.

“Hi,” he spoke.

Loretta stood tall. “Hello, Samuel.”

“You look…stunning.” He was a bit shocked and overtaken by Loretta’s beauty—which seemed odd to me—all the Harris women were beautiful.

She gave him a small smile and shrugged her left shoulder. “Of course, I do.” Then, she walked inside.

“Hi, Dad,” Grace said, moving over to her father and kissing him on the cheek.

“Hey, Buttercup. You doing okay?” he asked her.

She wrapped her arm around mine and grinned ear to ear. “Better than okay.”

We walked into the church and sat in a pew. I couldn’t think of the last time I’d been inside a church, let alone watching a person preach, but it was a big moment for Judy. I didn’t believe in church, but I did believe in family.

So, I sat, and I listened.

Judy preached about the power of forgiveness. She spoke on how life sometimes came with its twists and turns, yet at the end of the day, you were always promised a reset button come morning.