Natalie sat on the floor of her cramped apartment, a cigarette burning low between her fingers, watching as the kid-her kid-stacked a couple of chipped plastic cups. They were so focused, tongue peeking out, eyes narrowing when one wobbled too much. She knew she should say something encouraging, maybe even help, but all she could do was sit there, staring at the gap between them.

Eighteen months gone. A whole lifetime in toddler years. She had missed first steps, first words, first everything. And now? Now she was supposed to be someone’s mother? She barely knew how to be a person.

She tried to remember what she was supposed to do now. Hug them? Ruffle their hair? Say something encouraging? Lottie would’ve known. Jackie—no, Jackie wouldn’t have had to try at all. It would’ve just been there.

She cleared her throat, crushing the cigarette in the ashtray. "That’s, uh… that’s a good tower." The words felt clumsy, foreign.

The kid turned to her, bright-eyed, saying something-something easy, normal, something she should respond to right away. But her mind skipped. Just… blank. Like someone had hit pause on her ability to be present.

The kid pointed at her band tee, something oversized and faded she’d stolen from Travis forever ago. She glanced down. "What, this? It's Metallica." Their face scrunched up.

Nat huffed a fake laugh. "Yeah, well, when you're old enough, I'll educate you properly."

She felt her own body pull back, even as the kid crawled closer, babbling about the cups, the colors, something they had seen earlier. Her arms ached to reach out, to touch, to reassure. Instead, she picked at the scab on her knuckle.

"You got big," she muttered. It was a stupid thing to say, but it was all she had. "Didn’t used to be so big."

The kid grinned, showing off baby teeth, and it made her heart clench. They didn’t know what she had missed. Not really. But someday, they would.