Summer was officially over, and basketball season was calling again.
Mr. Giant had been offered a spot at training camp with the Atlanta Hawks and wanted me to visit.

At the time, I was between jobs…constantly refreshing my inbox for interview invitations and “thank you for applying” emails, so when he asked, I jumped at the chance. A break sounded good. But if I’m honest, it wasn’t just about escaping the job hunt. I missed him. Deeply.

I landed in Atlanta with butterflies and baggage (both emotional and literal). One of my friends picked me up from the airport since he was busy at the gym. It had been a while since I’d seen him, so before heading to his hotel, I asked her to swing by the mall. I wanted to surprise him… remind him who he had waiting for him.

When I arrived, he was still gone, which gave me just enough time to set the scene. I decorated the room, poured his favorite drink, and slipped into something I knew would make his eyes light up.

And they did.

The second he walked in, every doubt I had melted away. With one look, he made me forget the distance, the arguments, the silence. The butterflies all came rushing back. In that moment, I believed in us again. I loved him, and he loved me. We could get through anything.

For those few days, we did. It was laughter, room service, and whispered plans for the future. When I flew back to LA, I was on a high, just in time for another interview (spoiler: I got the job).

We talked every day while he was in Atlanta, FaceTime, texts, good mornings, good nights. Things felt…..right again. That is until one afternoon, my phone lit up with a random question:

“Are you on campus?”

Campus? What?

I replied, “You mean… work?”

He texted back, “Yeah, I was trippin’.”

It seemed harmless enough, but something in me shifted. My mind started racing. Why would he ask that? What was he thinking?…or hiding? Just like that, the trust I was rebuilding started to crack. Still, I kept it to myself. What could I really say?

A few weeks later, the Hawks waived him. He bounced around for a bit until finally landing another contract… in Taiwan.

I was…devastated. He was chasing his dream halfway across the world, and I had just started a new job. There was no time off for me, and he wouldn’t be flying back anytime soon. Part of me thought maybe this was the universe creating distance on purpose.

And then the unthinkable happened…I missed my period.

I’ll never forget staring at that first positive test. Then another. And another. I wasn’t just late. I was pregnant!

Confused. Shocked. Terrified.

I sat on the bathroom floor with tears running down my face, whispering to myself, “How did I get here?” Then I did the only thing I could do. I called him.

When I told him, there was no real reaction. No excitement. No fear. Just a calm, flat:
“We’ll figure this out.”

What that actually meant was me living back home with my mom in LA, pregnant, working full-time, attending appointments mostly alone, and begging for help with medical bills. To be fair, he said he was building us a home and that was his “contribution.” (In reality, once it was built, he never let me forget whose house it truly was.)

I was locked in…or better yet locked down. Once I knew I was carrying his child, I clung to the dream of the family I always wanted. I let things slide that shouldn’t have and was hell bent on doing (or dealing with) anything I could to make it work.

I remember calling him one morning before work. He sounded cold. I asked, “What’s wrong?”

He snapped, “Nothing. You act like I have to talk to you every day. Get a life of your own.”

It cut deep. I was holding on to those short windows of time we got to talk between time zones. Those moments meant everything to me. Yet to him, they were a burden.

I hung up, dried my tears, and went to work pretending my heart wasn’t falling out of my chest.

Moments like that became routine. One day, after my mom and I took my dog for a walk, he called while I was in the shower. My mom accidentally hit one of those “Can’t talk right now” replies.

HE LOST IT.

Texts. Voicemails. Accusations. Words no one should ever call the mother of their child. My mom felt horrible, like SHE’D done something wrong. (I guess that’s where I get it from.) I apologized, talked him off the ledge, and we moved on. Again.

He came to visit once while I was pregnant. His team was on break, and we had four whole days together. He stayed at my mom’s house and, one afternoon while we were both at work, he cleaned the entire place top to bottom..even the fridge.

It was the sweetest thing… until we realized my 5’1” mom couldn’t reach half the stuff his 7-foot self had put away. We laughed about it for days.

Before he left, he showed me the plans for our new home. He’d picked the lot, the layout, everything. And once again, I found myself believing in the fantasy. Believing in us.

We were so close, I could taste it.