Plates were scattered on the floor. I was shaking with anger. I shoved another stack off the dining table—the crash was satisfying and terrible all at once. How could he say that to me? I was in tears now, ugly, heaving sobs. This was not how I pictured our marriage.
And then I heard it. A small voice behind me.
"Mummy? Daddy? What's going on?"
My little one. Our daughter. She stood in the doorway of her room, clutching her stuffed rabbit, her tiny face crumpled with confusion and fear.
I broke down completely. What was wrong with me? What kind of mother—what kind of wife—had I become?
"Miss May , Miss."
The name cut through the fog. Someone was calling me.
It was my secretary, Thomas. Behind him stood Kelly, clutching a stack of files. Thomas cleared his throat.
"Ma? You seem a bit zoned out. Is everything alright?"
Kelly nodded beside him, concern flickering across her face.
I blinked, forcing myself back to the present. "No, no. It's nothing. I—" I caught myself. Too familiar. "It's nothing. I'm fine. Please, bring the documents over. I'll review them."
Kelly handed me the documents and waited. I flipped through them slowly, my eyes tracing words I wasn't fully processing. After ten minutes, I looked up.
"It's fine," I said, sliding the papers back across the desk. "You can submit it to the client."
"Yes, ma'am."
Finally, they left. The door clicked shut, and I was alone.
I exhaled slowly, rested my head against the high back of my chair, and spun to face the glass window. The city sprawled below—tiny cars, tiny people, all moving with purpose. I watched them for a long moment, my mind blissfully empty.
My phone buzzed.
I glanced at the screen and felt something shift in my chest. A smile tugged at my lips before I even answered.
"Lucy! How are you? How's school camp?"
"Hi, Mommy." Her small voice crackled through the speaker, and I could hear the smile in it. "I'm fine. How... how are you?"
Lucy launched into a breathless recounting of her camp adventures, her words tumbling over each other the way they always did when she was excited.
"Mommy, Mommy, guess what? I caught a fish! A real one! It was this big—" I could picture her stretching her small arms wide, "—and it almost got away but Sarah helped me and we named it Sparkles but then we had to let it go and I cried a little but Sarah said it's okay to cry and—oh! And we made s'mores by the fire and I saved you a marshmallow but it got squashed in my bag so now it's just sticky but I tried, Mommy."
I laughed, the sound surprising me. "You tried so hard, my love. That's the best squashed marshmallow I never got to eat."
"And we went swimming in the lake and the water was cold—so cold, Mommy, like fridge cold—but Ms. Patricia said we were brave and she gave us hot chocolate after. Mine had extra whipped cream because I was the bravest, she said. I did a cannonball and everything."
"I bet you were the bravest," I whispered, my throat tight.
"And we sang songs at night, around the campfire. Sad songs and happy songs. And there was this one song about a ship that gets lost at sea but then finds its way home because there's a light in the window waiting for it." She paused, her little voice dropping to something quieter. "It made me think of you, Mommy. Because you're my light. And I always find my way back to you."
Tears pricked my eyes. I blinked hard, staring at the city skyline so it blurred into watercolors.
"Oh, Lucy girl. You're my light too."
"And guess what else?"
"What else?"
"I made a friend! Her name is Maya and she has the same backpack as me but hers has a unicorn keychain and mine has a rainbow one and we traded for one day and now we're best friends forever. She says I'm funny. Am I funny, Mommy?"
"The funniest girl in the whole world."
"Daddy says I'm funny too."
The words landed softly, gently, like a leaf falling. No weight. Just presence.
"Oh yeah?" I managed.
"Mm-hmm. He called last night. He said he misses me. He always says that." A tiny pause. "Do you miss him too, Mommy?"
The city swam back into focus. A thousand answers crowded my throat, but none of them felt right.
"I miss you," I said finally. "Every single second."
"That's not what I asked."
I know, my love. I know.
"I have to go now, Mommy! They're calling us for the night hike. We're gonna see owls, Ms. Patricia says. Real owls! I'll tell you all about it when I come home, okay?"
"Okay, my brave girl. Have the best time. I love you to the moon and back."
"To the moon and around the sun and back! That's farther."
"Even farther. I love you that much."
"Me too, Mommy. Bye!"
The line went dead.
I held the phone to my ear for a long moment, listening to nothing, before lowering it slowly.
He called. He said he misses me.
I turned back to the window. The city glittered below, indifferent and beautiful.
Do you miss him too, Mommy?
I didn't have an answer. Not one I could say out loud.
The word spun in my head as I drifted back to a moment when I was the happiest woman in the world.
We were in a café, probably in our early twenties. Our eyes still held the colors of love—bright, uncomplicated, certain. We were sharing an ice cream, laughing about something I couldn't remember anymore, when he suddenly pulled his chair closer.
I was mid-sentence, distracted, when I felt his breath near my ear.
"Will you be my girlfriend?"
I turned to find him watching me, nervous and hopeful all at once. It was pure. Innocent. Everything I had ever dreamed of.
I nodded shyly.
His lips found mine. Soft. Gentle. A promise before we knew what promises cost.
It was everything I ever dreamed of.