#keepshowingup
I count time
in four-hour windows
that never quite reach four.
In cold air cutting minutes short,
in outdoor benches and supervised doors,
in play-centre laughter
that wears him out
because we try to fit a month
into an afternoon.
He falls asleep heavy in my arms,
joy-drunk and safe,
and I pretend
the clock isn’t watching.
They made their decision
in a room of rules and paperwork —
said it was caution,
said it was process,
said it was necessary.
I stood still.
Because sometimes strength
is not in shouting
“this isn’t fair,”
but in saying,
“watch me remain steady.”
I won’t let anger raise him.
I won’t let bitterness speak for me.
I won’t teach him
that love fights *****
If there were whispers,
they will thin out in daylight.
If there were accusations,
they will meet time
and evidence
and consistency.
The system moves in procedure.
I move in resolve.
Every meeting attended.
Every form signed.
Every box ticked.
Every visit where I show up
warm, calm, certain.
He doesn’t measure me
in court language.
He measures me
in eye contact.
In arms that don’t hesitate.
In the way I say his name
like it belongs to my heartbeat.
Yes, I feel the missing.
Yes, I feel the months stacking up.
Yes, I ache for the ordinary —
bedtime stories,
messy mornings,
home.
But I am not collapsing.
I am building.
And one day
these supervised hours
will be a chapter,
not the ending.
Not because I screamed loudest.
But because I stayed steady longest.
Feb 21
Feb 21, 2026 at 5:06 AM UTC