The house I grew up in during my teenage years.

Daddy and I pored over paint samples for months before deciding on the white-on-white color scheme. Our inspiration had been a house in London’s Notting Hill, which we’d photographed on one of our many trips to Europe over the years.

I take out my earbuds. My grief hits me square in the gut, leaving me breathless. I miss him. Every damn day. I was always close with my parents. But Daddy and I had a special bond. He was a well-known architect here in Charleston, and we were both obsessed with design. Specifically European design, and the travel and the history that came with it.

He was the best travel buddy, my biggest cheerleader, and my shoulder to cry on. Losing him was like losing a limb. I knew I’d never move in the world the same way again.

I grip the wrought iron gate guarding the driveway, trying to steady myself. Trying to breathe.

Squirrels dart across the lawn and climb up an old oak tree. The humid, salty smell of the ocean, just down the street, permeates everything.

I swallow the tightness in my throat. Heart racing.

What in the world am I going to do about this baby? This feels adult and scary in a way nothing else ever has. Not going away to college or getting a job or starting my own design business.

This is not at all the direction I imagined my life would take.

Then again, I’m thirty-four. I have the privileges of a great job with decent benefits, a healthy savings account I’ve worked for years to build, and an amazing support network. I’ve had plenty of time to experience the world on my own and achieve my goals. If I decide to have this kid, chances are I could provide the kind of life I want for her and for myself, too.

This pregnancy was unplanned. But in many ways, I am not unprepared.

Yes, this isn’t how I imagined my experience of motherhood would play out. Namely, I thought I’d be doing this baby thing with a great, sexy, preferably bookish guy who adored me as much as I adored him, and who was committed to being an equal partner in all things. Parenthood included.

And yes, there’s a chance Greyson will want to be involved. But even if he is, can I count on him to be that equal partner? How would we co-parent when we can hardly look at each other without engaging in verbal fisticuffs (shout out to historical romance for making that word a regular part of my vocabulary)?

Bottom line: am I ready to take on single parenting? Yes, I have a village that is ready and willing to help out. But at the end of the day, it will just be me and this baby against the world. I won’t have a partner to take over diaper duty in the middle of the night after I’m exhausted from a feeding. I don’t have a parent to offer advice or just be there when I’ve had it or my nipples are bleeding or I’m out of coffee.