Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 61723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
SEVEN
LUCY
By the time I get home, I’m running on fumes and stubbornness. My diner shift bled straight into my afternoon at the ice cream shop with no break, and my feet feel like I’ve been walking on gravel all day. My ponytail is loose, my uniform smells like coffee and sugar, and my brain hasn’t stopped spinning since Tucker showed up this morning. Why does this stranger get me so twisted up inside?
Still, the second I open the front door and hear Quinn’s voice, everything inside me softens. “Mama!” She barrels into me from the living room, nearly knocking me backward into the door.
I laugh, catching her before she can take us both down. “Hey, baby.”
“You’re home!”
“I am.” I kiss the top of her head, breathing in the clean, warm scent of her. “Did you have fun with Zoe?”
“Yes! We made cookies. And I watched a movie. And—” she gasps dramatically, “—I didn’t even spill anything.”
I widen my eyes. “That might be the most impressive part.”
She giggles and grabs my hand, tugging me toward the kitchen. “I’m hungry.”
“Of course you are.” I drop my purse on the counter and roll up my sleeves. Dinner is simple tonight. Mac and cheese, apple slices, and the last of the chicken I made yesterday.
Nothing fancy. But Quinn doesn’t care. She climbs into her chair, swinging her legs while I plate everything up. We eat at the small table by the window, the evening light turning everything soft and gold.
Quinn talks the entire time. About her day. About her cookies. About how one of the boys in her class thinks worms are pets and how that’s “kind of gross but also a little cool.”
I nod and laugh in all the right places, letting her words wash over me like something steady and safe. This is everything. This is the part of my life that makes everything else worth it. When dinner is done, we move into the rhythm we’ve built together. Bath time. Warm water and bubbles. Quinn splashing more than she should. “Mama, look!”
“I see, baby.”
“Look again!”
“I’m still seeing.”
She laughs and dunks her toy under the water. Afterward, I wrap her in a towel and carry her to her room, her damp hair leaving little drops against my shoulder. The day is coming where I won’t be able to lift her and carry her to her room like this. She’s getting bigger and while it’s fun to do more things with her, the mom heart inside me breaks at the idea of her growing up so fast. She is the greatest achievement of my life and my entire world. The days may be long, but the years go by fast.
We change into pajamas. Brush teeth. And then we settle into bed with her favorite book.
“The bunny one,” she insists.
“Again?”
“Yes.”
I smile and give in. “Okay.”
I read, my voice soft and steady as she curls against me, her small hand clutching the edge of my old t-shirt that I wear around the house. Halfway through the story, her breathing slows. By the end, she’s asleep. I set the book aside and carefully slide out from under her, tucking the blanket up to her chin.
For a moment, I just stand there. Watching her. Making sure. Always making sure. Then I turn off the lamp and pull the door mostly closed. The house feels different at night.
Quieter.
Bigger.
Lonelier.
I move through the kitchen, cleaning up the last of the dishes, wiping down the counters, putting things back where they belong. Keeping busy. Because when I stop moving, I think. And tonight, my thoughts aren’t kind.
Clint. His voice. His anger. The memories of the hard days, the fear. A shiver runs down my spine. I shake it off and head to the bathroom. Routine helps. It always has. It’s how I survived our marriage.
He’s the reason I can’t answer Roger’s calls. Early on at the diner, Roger came in and asked me for my number. I didn’t give it to him right away. He seemed nice enough, at first, but don’t they all. After the first call I didn’t answer that sent him giving me a barrage of questions, he reminded me too much of life with Clint. I guess I have a type … possessive, demanding, controlling, and manipulative. Roger behaves too much like my ex-husband and I do not need that in my life.
I change into my nightgown, pulling a soft robe over it. Wash my face. Brush my teeth. Tie my hair up loosely.
Normal things.
Safe things.
By the time I step into my bedroom, I’m exhausted. I pull back the covers and sit on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing. How long?
The question creeps in quietly. How long before things settle again? Before my life feels stable? How long until Clint finds me and starts again? How long until I am back to begging for him to stop showing up, stop calling, and to stop pushing me for access to my daughter? How long until there aren’t constant reminders that my peace is always temporary?