The kids needed baths. Milo insisted the water was too hot, then too cold, then “it smells weird.” Hazel cried because the towel I handed her was “too rough” and “hurt her skin.” Nora refused to get out of the bathtub because she was “still a sea creature” and sea creatures couldn’t go to bed until “the ocean tells them to.”
By the time I got them clean, dry, and into pajamas, I was exhausted.
Ezoic
The evening devolved into the usual negotiations about bedtime. Stories were read—Goodnight Moon for Milo, Junie B. Jones for Hazel, Harry Potter for Nora who was reading ahead of her grade level and proud of it.
Eventually, all three kids ended up in Milo’s room because “the monsters prefer single targets” according to Nora’s very specific monster-avoidance theory, and honestly I was too tired to argue.
By nine-thirty, they were finally asleep—a tangle of limbs and stuffed animals and blankets, breathing softly in the darkness.
Ezoic
I stood in the doorway for a minute, just watching them. My whole world, right there. Three kids I’d never planned on raising alone, who deserved so much more than I could give them, who somehow still looked at me like I had all the answers.
I closed the door quietly and collapsed onto my own bed without even changing clothes.
I was asleep before my head fully hit the pillow.
Ezoic
The Morning That Made My Heart Stop
At 6:07 AM, horns jolted me awake.
Not one horn. Several. Multiple vehicles, all honking at once, the sound chaotic and alarming and completely wrong for a quiet Saturday morning in our complex.
My brain struggled to process what I was hearing. Car alarms? An accident in the parking lot?
Ezoic
Then I saw the lights.
