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)

Read the Book!

Amazon Kindle

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 an 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.