“A family doesn’t break all at once. It breaks in distances.”
I text them every morning.
I’m proud of you. I love you more than anything.
Sometimes they reply with hearts.
Sometimes with Love you too.
And sometimes, there is nothing at all.
I don’t blame them.
I blame myself.
For not having a place.
For not being able to hold them close.
For not being enough to keep everything from falling apart.
But deep down I know the truth.
I didn’t leave them.
I’m fighting for them.
Every borrowed couch.
Every sleepless night.
Every tear I hide behind a smile.
It’s all for them.
I write their names on a sticky note and place it beside my pillow.
Finn. Harlow.
A small reminder.
A reason not to give up.
The phone buzzes close to midnight.
It’s Finn.
“Hey, Mom.”
His voice is low and steady.
The kind of voice that tries not to carry its weight.
“Hey, son. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Just checking in.”
I picture him sitting at Grandma’s kitchen table, hunched over his phone. Half embarrassed to call. Half afraid not to.
“I know this is hard,” I whisper.
There’s a pause on the other end of the line.
“I’ll take care of Harlow,” he says.
No hesitation.
No room for me to argue.
My throat tightens.
I want to tell him it isn’t his job.
That he should get to be twenty-one.
Reckless. Free.
Not standing guard over the pieces of a broken family.
But instead, I say the only thing I can manage.
“Thank you.”
When we hang up, I stare at the ceiling.
The room is quiet again.
And I wonder how my son learned to carry burdens I never meant pass down.
(NEXT – CHAPTER 5: FIGHTING)