But in the face of each proposal, he stood firm: “I want to keep it. I am prepared.” At first, I thought I just wanted to prove something. But not. I knew what I was doing. Or at least, I had every intention.
One night, we found ourselves in the living room, sitting quietly in front of this tiny baby, lying in a pink carrycot. Fragile. Dependent. And I had no idea how we were going to get ahead.
“I just want her not to feel abandoned…” Zach told me as he rocked her. “I know what it feels like.” I didn’t understand right away. And then I saw his face. And I understood: I wasn’t just talking about her. He was talking about himself.
My son, so reserved, who took refuge in video games when life got very heavy, that he never expressed his emotions… He was finally opening up.
“I’m here,” I said softly. “You don’t have to do this alone. We will do it together.” But the truth is, she was terrified. He was so young. Too young. And yet… I had no choice. If he got engaged, I had to be by his side.
The first few months were a whirlwind. Zach learned to feed, change and calm a newborn. Sleepless nights. Cried crisis. Moments of doubt. I saw him stagger sometimes. But I was forced not to take care of everything. I needed to feel like I could make it.
Even though that meant falling. And get back up.
One afternoon, exhausted, he came to see me, “I can’t, Mom. He deserves better than me.” That phrase broke me. But I looked at him and said, “The fact that you say that is precisely what shows you’re achieving it. You realize how big it is. And that is to be responsible.”
So we’re looking for help. Family, support groups, social services, but this time with a real environment around us.
Little by little, we found a rhythm. Zach learned to be a father. In his own way. Not perfect. Not classic. But real.
