Of course, I said “yes.” My mom is the strongest woman I know, but even she needs rest.
My ex-husband walked out two years ago, right after our youngest turned three. He decided he wasn’t “cut out for family life.” His words, not mine.
He left, and my mom stepped in without hesitation, helping me hold everything together.
Between her job, my job, and the kids, we operate like a tiny, overworked team trying to navigate life one obligation at a time.
By the time I pulled into the grocery store, the sky had already turned a deep shade of early-winter blue.
I just needed to grab a few things to make a quick dinner I wouldn’t feel too guilty about — mac ‘n’ cheese, chicken tenders, apples, juice boxes — the standard single-mom survival kit.
I pushed through the aisles in a hurry, mentally mapping out the rest of the night: homework, baths, bedtime, dishes, maybe a load of laundry if I didn’t collapse first.
My arms were overflowing with grocery bags as I stepped into the cold parking lot.
A sharp wind cut across my face, waking me up more than the coffee at work ever did.
I clutched my bags tighter and tried to quicken my pace, already picturing my mom waiting on the couch and my kids bouncing around her like caffeinated squirrels.
Then I saw him.
