Bob called last night

and struck fear into my heart. He mentioned taking Brittany back, for the first time in a long time.

I'd almost convinced myself she was ours, for keeps.

This wasn't the plan, you know. We took custody of Britt because Sarah's parents were threatening to, because Bob no longer had a home or a steady job after all the chaos their daughter caused. The plan was that he'd get his own apartment near us and get settled in a good job and then he'd take her home with him, which would be perfectly fine because I'd still get to take care of her every day.

Then he had to go and move himself 150 miles away, which changed everything. If he moved her up there, she'd be yanked away from everything that is familiar to her, and how would she handle that? A different home, different people, no grammy and no grampa?

I'm not questioning Bob's parenting abilities; he was the one who took care of her when she wasn't with me (because her meth ho mama couldn't be bothered), and he did a fine job. But he can't be with her 24 hours a day like I can and she'd be left with strangers while he works, who couldn't possibly love her and care for her as tenderly as I do.

He can't take her out of the state until six months after his divorce is final and it isn't yet. There's a court date on that next month, so I have at least until September with her. We'll be able to celebrate her second birthday here, before he can take her away.

Oh, God.

Come home, Bob. Please, just come back home.