If I sit in the presence of Mr. Smith long enough, the conversation tends to grow deep. Not from me, but from him. I listen, become more quiet, until no words can form. I feel it.

This morning, we were sitting on the back porch, coffee in hand, watching Stork fly in over the lake. I feel a sense of peace when I see Stork. He has always revealed I am in a safe space. This morning, I felt my layers being peeled back one by one, and it was a gentle process. Smith was pointing out how I visit on the weekend, and then I pack up and leave.

I have two lives. The one with Smith on the weekends, and the one with my daughter during the week. My daughter visits some, but that is all it looks like is a weekend visit. My heart is torn between these two worlds.

Smith has never loved me like I imagined I would be loved. He loves me better.

This morning was one of those times where he gently dug down to the heart of the matter. No more skimming over the surface, and the end result was a feeling of rawness. I thought I was holding it together pretty well, living this double life. But, I don’t have to ‘hold it all together’ anymore.

It’s always been my daughter, and me. Even when I was married to her father, it was really just the two of us. There comes a time where you don’t know which way is home. I have two houses, but which one is home?

Bringing three lives together, and enjoying one life. People say it’s a hard thing to do, but from where I sit, it’s harder not to.