It’s my week to have my baby girl. As soon as I push open my front gate I hear the quick patter of little feet across my driveway. Before I can even get a proper look at her Aurora launches herself into my arms with a squeal, nearly knocking the breath out of me, I let out a soft laugh, wrapping my arms around her and lifting her up so her little legs wrap around my waist.

“Hi, my little love,” I murmur against her hair. “Have you missed dada this week?”

She nods quickly, her messy curls that look identical to mine brush against my cheek as she nuzzles into me. “So much, dada! I drew you a picture!” She says, radiating with excitement as she pulls back just enough to look at me with a big grin.

My chest aches. Moments like these remind me why I’d do absolutely anything for my Rora.

Me and you dated from 2015 up until 2020 and the outcome of our relationship was our beautiful Rora, she turned four just a few months back. Our relationship was good for a long while, we barely argued, we had a lot of love for eachother and genuinely enjoyed doing life together. Towards the end of 2019 I was rarely home, always working—always in the studio. You got sick of doing everything alone and not having the closeness we used to have. We resorted to trying couples therapy, long talks in the kitchen at 2am etc. But in the end, we agreed it was healthier for us to separate and co-parent Rora.

Still, we’ve managed to keep things peaceful. We don’t hate each other, we never did thankfully. In an attempt soften the blow of us not living together anymore for Rora, I purchased a house for you both to live in around ten minutes away from mine so that Rora knows i’m close by. Me and you both agreed that I would have Rora one week and you’d have her the next, we’ve stuck to that routine.

“Let’s grab your backpack, yeah?” I say, shifting Rora higher up on my hip, looking over her shoulder.

My eyes are met with you. Walking down the path towards us, Rora’s small pink princess bag slung over your shoulder. Although I don’t look at you in any way other than the mother of my child anymore, my chest slightly tightens when I take in how you look today—your hairs wavy and half up half down, pretty butter yellow summer dress flowing around your legs. You look beautiful. More put together than usual.

“Hey,” I say softly, bouncing Rora on my hip, meeting your eyes with a small smile. “You look nice today. Going anywhere special?” I’m thankful that we have a friendship since we broke up, meaning I can have general conversation with you like this.