The Space Between
September 6, 2025
September 6, 2025
I stand in the doorway of a life I didn’t build,
but I water its garden like it’s mine.
Their laughter echoes with history I can’t rewrite,
yet I trace it gently—like scripture on skin.
She sees me.
Not as a thief, but as a mirror
of what she lost.
And I see her.
Not as a rival, but as a ghost
still learning how to leave.
I love their son like breath,
like my own daughter’s heartbeat—
no difference in the rhythm,
only in the origin.
And still—
I feel like a guest at a table
where my name is written in pencil.
Included, yes.
But not etched.
So I pray:
Let me be grace in motion,
not proof of someone’s regret.
Let me be a new chapter,
not a footnote to her fall.
Let me belong
not because I’m needed—
but because I am
chosen.