Page 119 of Cain

She turned to look at me, smiling wide to reveal a bright pink mouthguard.

We wanted our little girl to learn early how to defend herself, to grow an unshakable confidence that came from knowing she could handle any situation that came her way.

Would she ever have the life lesson of a hot frying pan against an abusive man’s head? No. But her classes at the self-defense gym and up at Hailstorm would accomplish the same thing.

“That’s my girl!” my mom yelled from the other side of our son. Well, our oldest son. The other was cradled against me, taking a nap the only way he liked—amidst the noise and chaos.

Everyone joked that he was clearly meant to be a club member one day.

While my mom and I had reconnected and maintained a better relationship after the whole Perry thing, it wasn’t until she found out that she was going to be a grandmother that she really pushed to be a bigger part of our lives.

The woman even quit smoking.

After nearly forty years.

She had her place professionally cleaned so there were no lingering nicotine scents. Then she completely revamped my old bedroom to become a playroom. No beds. She’d been clear that there were no sleepovers at her place. That she was just the ‘fun grandma.’

There were plenty of people in the club who we could rely on for an overnight if it ever became necessary. So we were okay with my mom just being a cool place to visit.

Did it make me a little tender to see her step up and be the attentive, caring, lovable, soup-making mom I’d never gotten to have growing up? Yeah, sure. But I was so glad my kids got to see a side of her that I hadn’t growing up.

“Where’s Daddy?” my son asked as my little girl made her way over to sit with the other kids.

“He’s on his way. He had to have a meeting with your uncles,” I reminded him.

So much changed through the years.

And from day-to-day.

It was oddly reassuring to me that church meetings could always be counted on. Just like the support of the club could be as well.

Even as I was thinking that, the door opened and in walked half the damn club, making our daughter beam her hot pink smile at them and wave.

My heart felt full to bursting watching her.

Because that was a little girl who would grow into a woman who would never accept abuse from a man since she had so many examples of healthy masculinity, since she’d seen nothing but the good treatment of the women in her life.

I’d found a lot of unexpected healing in motherhood. In nurturing my kids, I also somehow managed to nurture the little girl inside me who never had that herself. I found a lightness and utter lack of self-consciousness in engaging in play with them. Being a mom had also taught me to trust myself and my instincts in a way that I’d never known before.

The rest of my healing came from loving a man who loved me in turn. Who supported me unendingly. Who never criticized or judged me. Who constantly showed me through words and actions how happy he was to have me in his life.

Cain moved in beside me, giving our older son a fist bump, then lifting the fussing baby out of my arms before pressing a kiss to my temple.

“Sorry I’m late. What’d I miss?”

“She had to be pulled off that boy who kept telling her last week that girls can’t fight.”

“That’s our girl. Strong just like her mama.”

My mom cleared her throat.

“And her grandma,” Cain amended.

Beside my mom, Janet and Jill leaned forward, brows raised.

“And her aunts,” he added with a smile.

“And I’m strong like Daddy,” our son declared, flexing a tiny bicep.