Mornings in my house don't start—they explode.
"Moooom! Evan took my shoe!"
"I did not! It was on my side!"
I close my eyes for half a second, gripping the kitchen counter like it might steady me, like I might somehow gather myself before turning back to the chaos.
"James, your shoes are by the door. Evan, cereal—finish it. We're already late."
My voice comes out calm. Too calm. The kind of calm you learn when there's no one else to fall apart in front of.
Inside, I feel like I've been running for hours.
The kettle screams behind me. Toast pops up. And then, of course, Evan knocks over his cup. Milk spills across the table, dripping slowly onto the floor.
"Oh—Evan…"
"I didn't mean to!" His lip wobbles instantly.
"I know, baby. It's okay. Just stay still."
I grab a cloth, wiping quickly, moving fast, fixing everything like I always do. One hand cleaning, the other reaching for James's school bag.
"Homework?"
"In there."
"Lunch?"
"You packed it, Mom."
Right.
Of course I did.
I do everything.
By the time we're finally out the door, shoes on (mostly), bags zipped, jackets half buttoned. I already feel exhausted. Like I've lived a full day before eight in the morning.
The drive to school is loud. Arguing, laughing, music requests shouted over each other. It's messy and chaotic and overwhelming, but it's also the best part of my day.
Because they're mine.
"Mom," James says from the backseat, quieter now. "Is Dad coming home this Friday?"
My fingers tighten slightly around the steering wheel.
"He said he would."
"Will he come to my game on Saturday?"
There it is.
That small, hopeful question that always feels heavier than it should.
"I'll remind him," I say gently.
It's not an answer.
We both know it.
But neither of us says anything else.
The drop-off lane is its usual blur. Cars inching forward, kids hopping out, teachers waving, but when we finally reach the front, I turn in my seat.
"Hey."
They both look at me.
"I love you."
"Love you too, Mom," James says quickly, already halfway out.
Evan leans in, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek before scrambling after his brother.
And just like that…
Silence.
Real silence.
I sit there for a moment longer than I need to, hands resting in my lap, the quiet settling around me in a way that feels almost foreign.
Then I exhale.
And drive.
The bell above the door chimes softly as I unlock it.
My shop. Juniper and Ink.
The one place that still feels like mine.
It's small, nothing fancy, but it's warm. Shelves packed with books, soft chairs tucked into corners, the smell of coffee already clinging to the air like something comforting and constant.
I flick on the lights and step inside.
"Okay," I murmur to myself. "Let's go."
There's a rhythm here I understand.
Coffee machine humming. Cups stacking. Pastries arranged just right.
Simple.
Manageable.
Mine.
By mid-morning, the shop fills with the usual mix of people. Regulars who smile when they see me. Students buried in textbooks. Someone flipping through a novel in the corner like they have nowhere else to be.
"Morning, Liz," Tom calls from the counter.
"Morning. The usual?"
"You know me too well."
I smile as I make his cappuccino.
Here, I exist as something more than just "Mom."
Here, people see me.
Even if it's just for a few minutes at a time.
Around midday, during a rare quiet moment, I reach for my phone.
Still nothing.
My thumb hovers over the screen before I open our chat.
Me:
Hey… do you know what time you'll be home Friday? James has a game Saturday morning.
I stare at it for a second after sending it.
Delivered.
No reply.
I lock my phone and set it down, telling myself not to check again.
I check again five minutes later.
Then ten.
Then twenty.
Nothing.
That familiar ache settles in my chest, not sharp, not dramatic. Just… there. Like background noise I've learned to live with.
By the end of the afternoon, I've checked more times than I want to admit.
Still nothing.
The day doesn't slow down.
School pickup.
"Moooom, I'm hungry."
"You just ate."
"I'm still hungry."
I laugh softly despite myself.
Soccer practice follows. James runs across the field like he's chasing something bigger than the ball. Evan trails after kids twice his size, determined to keep up.
I sit on the sidelines, clapping when I should, smiling when they look at me.
Other parents chat nearby.
I don't join in. I never do.
My phone rests in my hand again.
Still no reply.
By the time we get home, the sky is already fading.
"Shoes off. Hands washed. No running," I call as I carry in groceries.
Dinner is quick. Easy. Something I don't have to think too much about.
Homework. Baths.
Water splashes. Laughter echoes down the hallway.
"Not too much water!" I call, leaning against the doorframe.
For a moment, I just watch them.
This part of my life… it's real. It's full.
It matters.
It should be enough. Right?
When they're distracted, playing in the bath, I slip into my bedroom.
My book is waiting on the nightstand.
I pick it up, curling onto the bed, opening to where I left off.
It pulls me in immediately.
The way he looks at her.
The way he wants her.
Like she's everything.
Like she's the only thing that exists and matters in his world.
My breath slows as I read, my fingers tracing the edge of the page.
What would that feel like?
To be wanted like that?
To have someone look at me and not see responsibility or routine or expectation…
…but something irresistible.
Something worth chasing.
I swallow, my chest tightening.
It's just a story.
Fantasy.
Not real.
Still…
I turn the page.
Then another.
Until—
"Mom! We're done!"
I blink, the world snapping back into place.
"Coming!"
The house settles slowly after bedtime.
Toys picked up. Lights turned off. Doors checked.
I move through it all on autopilot.
My phone sits on the counter.
I pick it up.
Still nothing.
I stare at the screen, then press call before I can stop myself.
It rings.
And rings.
And rings.
Each second stretching longer than the last.
Then—
Voicemail.
I hang up.
A minute later, my phone buzzes.
Daniel:
Still at work. Will let you know when I'm at the apartment.
That's it.
No questions.
No warmth.
Nothing.
I stare at the message, my thumb hovering like I might respond.
But I don't.
What would I even say? Would anything I say even matter?
When I finally get into bed, the space beside me feels too big.
Too empty.
I lie on my side, staring at the faint light filtering through the curtains.
The silence presses in.
Not peaceful.
Not comforting.
Cold and bitter and lonely.
My mind drifts back to the book.
To the way the male lead watched her.
Like she was everything.
The way he touched her body like every caress was a form of worship.
My lips part slightly as the thought settles, quiet and dangerous.
What would it feel like…
…to have someone be that obsessed with me?
My chest tightens.
I close my eyes.
And eventually—
I fall asleep.
Alone.