Cabinets open and close in the kitchen. The low hum of the coffee pot fills the space. My mom moves around like she always does, steady and familiar, like nothing in the world has shifted overnight.
I pause for half a second, listening, my chest tight in a way I don’t acknowledge out loud. There’s no reason for him to be here. This is my mom’s house, my space, not his, and he knows that as well as I do. If he was here, I’d know.
I move into the kitchen anyway, keeping my expression neutral when my mom glances over her shoulder, spatula in hand and a knowing look already forming like she can read more than I’ve said.
“You’re up early,” she says, easy as ever.
“I’ve got things to do,” I answer, grabbing a mug from the cabinet without meeting her eyes right away.
“That so?” she asks, not pushing, but not letting it go either.
I pour coffee and lean against the counter, letting the heat steady my hands. “School starts early,” I say.
Mom hums like she doesn’t quite buy it, but she lets it go. The smell of breakfast should settle me. It doesn’t. Part of me is still listening for something that isn’t there.
For him.
He let me go.
Exactly like I said I wanted.
I set the mug down a little too hard. “You okay?” she asks.
“I’m fine,” I answer, too quickly.
This is what I wanted. Space. Time. So why does it feel like something’s missing?
I rinse the mug just to keep moving.
I glance out the window. Somewhere out there, he’s already working, moving on like it’s just another day, and I can’t decide if that steadies me or makes this worse.
Mom flips another pancake. “You want some?”
“I’m not hungry.”
She studies me. “That’s new.”
“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
She waits, and I give in. “He’s good with her.”
Her expression softens. “I figured.”
“He is,” I say. “It’s not forced. He just meets her where she is. She trusts him already.”
“And you?”
“I should be happy. And I am. I just don’t trust that it’ll last.”
She nods. “Old feelings don’t disappear. They get buried.”
I look toward the window again. “That’s what I’m worried about. I can feel them coming back.”
“Wanting something doesn’t make you reckless.”
“It does if it affects her.” I nod toward the hallway. “I don’t get to take risks.”
“No,” she says. “But you don’t get to shut yourself off and miss something good either.”
