I stood up and walked over to my children.
I picked up Mia, swinging her onto my hip. She squealed, grabbing my hair.
“Who’s my strong girl?” I cooed, kissing her cheek.
I reached down and scooped up Leo with my other arm. He buried his face in my neck.
“Who’s my sweet boy?”
They were heavy. My arms burned with the weight. But it was a good burn. It was the weight of my life.
They weren’t accessories to be collected. They weren’t heirs to be molded. They were my world.
And I?
I was the furthest thing from useless. I was the provider. I was the protector. I was the Mother.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in violet and orange, I saw a familiar car drive slowly past the heavy iron gates at the end of the driveway.
It was Ethan’s old sedan, rusted and dented.
He slowed down. He stopped.
I could see his silhouette looking through the bars. He was looking at the warm lights of the mansion. He was looking at the woman holding two children in a garden he was forbidden to enter.
I didn’t hide. I didn’t turn away.
I stood tall, holding my children close, and I looked him dead in the eye across the expanse of the lawn.
I stood there until he put the car in gear and drove away into the dark, disappearing into the nothingness he had chosen.
I turned back to my children.
“Come on,” I whispered. “Let’s go home.”
The End.
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