Relatable Romance that’s racy between the sheets.
The Cure for Loneliness
Shattered Hearts of Carolina Single Parent Romance
An Empty Nester, Second Chance Romantic Short Story
Telling a parent their child has cancer leaves a lasting impression on a doctor. So did my patient’s single mother, Jennica Sylva. After her daughter’s recovery, I never understood why Jennica vanished.
Since my divorce, the memory of Jennica is the standard I hold the women I date to. Though I’m certain what I remember of her is as imagined as the fantasies I replay of Jennica when I’m alone—which is probably why I’m still a single dad.
But when a stroke of luck pairs our incoming college freshmen as roommates, I’m not letting a second chance to treat Jennica the way she deserves slip through my fingers… Not if I can help it.
CONTENT CONSIDERATIONS This book includes but is not limited to the following: childhood cancer, divorce, cheating (not by a main character)
Enjoy this Excerpt from The Cure for Loneliness...
“Will you be okay if I come right back, Chandler?”
My eighteen-year-old daughter unzips the plastic bag covering her new bedding set. She shakes out the comforter, making her long blonde ponytail bounce. Sheets and pillowcases tumble haphazard onto the bed. When she tosses the empty container behind her, the exact way she’d do in her room at home, I’m certain she’s rolling her eyes.
“Relax, Mom. No one cares if you’re double-parked, everyone else—”
“Another parent needs that space,” I cut her off.
“Ohmigod. If you’re going to act this tense all day, maybe you should just go home.”
“I’m not tense. Who’s tense?” I hold my hands up to my chest to stop my child from arguing.
The truth is, I’m filled with the nervous excitement the unknown brings. I’m as anxious as I was this wound up the day the doctor handed all seven pounds, eleven ounces of her to me. This alert the day she took her first wobbly steps. This jumpy the day she got sick. And wow, thinking about that makes me as nauseous as I was hearing her diagnosis. But I’m also proud of how far we’ve come, and how ready Chandler is for the next step.
The one she’s taking without me.
And me without her.
All I want is to fill the next chapters of our lives with amazing experiences. That means making sure today goes perfectly. Because there’s no chance I won’t bawl my eyes out this afternoon when I drive away.
It’s freshman move-in day at Pinewood State. We circled the date on our calendar months ago. Maybe even years since attending this school is the goal Chandler chased her entire high school career.
I’m not the only parent I know who found everything about the college admission process equal parts thrilling and daunting. I survived thanks to friends who’d previously run the gauntlet of essays, extracurricular activities, and recommendations. I’m also fortunate this isn’t Chandler’s first time away. In elementary school, she attended summer camp. She flies solo to visit her grandparents. She even took a two-week class trip to Europe last spring.
I’ve got a well-rounded kid, who—discounting childhood cancer, which I’m not sure you can do—blessed me with a well-rounded parenting resumé.
Parenting a college student differs from when I was one. Chandler and I mastered texting and video chats when she was in the hospital and I had to go to work. She’s always known I’m a phone call away. We’ll be fine.
Except…
“I feel like I’m forgetting something.”
“To have fun?” Chandler mumbles, tossing the clean sheets off the bed and onto the floor so she can raise the mattress.
“My key,” I reply instead of lecturing her about what order she should have made the bed in.
Between now and Christmas break, she’ll make worse choices than creating extra laundry for herself. Lord knows I did. However, I’d like to believe I make better decisions now than hogging and unloading spot when another parent can use it.
I grab my fob from where I set it on the dresser. “Be right back.”
“You already said that!” I hear Chandler’s sarcastic sing-song following me into the hallway.
God, I’m going to miss that snarky, teenage attitude… And also, what the hell am I talking about? Yesterday, I told her I’d wash her mouth out with soap… But in a modern way that wouldn’t get me reported to child protective services.
I take the three flights of stairs down, hang a right past the elevators, and go out the main door, which is propped open. Then I hop in the car and drive it to the multi-story garage that the Welcome to Pinewood paperwork indicated had free parent parking. Feeling responsible, I grab my reusable water bottle from the cupholder and hustle back to help my daughter finish unpacking.
Things are even busier outside the building. Parents bustle about, carting in everything from microwaves to electric hair rollers. Entering the dorm, the wait for the elevator is brutal. As much as I don’t want Chandler to think I’m abandoning her, I hadn’t planned to stay the entire day. I’m grateful we had an early move-in time.
I retrace my steps, ignoring the moms having a harder time cutting the apron strings than I am. I sidestep muscled teenage boys who I hope packed their deodorant—pew. In the sea of dad-bods, the broad shoulders encased in a blue polo and the tight backside of a father who remembered a dolly for their freshman’s mini-fridge attracts my attention. By the time I reach Chandler’s room, I’ve forgotten about him.
Inside, moving bags and crates cover her roommate’s bed. The girls huddle with their heads together, talking animatedly. They’re nearly twins in racerback tank tops and running shorts. The slight difference in their appearance is Kaci’s shorter brown ponytail and her brown eyes. Chandler has blue eyes and blonde hair.
They’ll either get along famously, or crash and burn.
“You’re back.” Chandler says as Kaci adds, “That didn’t take long.”
It takes a second to realize the girls are focused over my shoulder. I turn and freeze.
The biggest shock isn’t the hot dad wearing the blue shirt filling in the threshold.
It’s that Kaci’s father is the one man I hadn’t ever quite gotten over knowing I’d never see again.
©2026 Jody Kaye, All Rights Reserved
