“You never did,” Mama said gently.
I pulled my hand slowly from hers.
“Have you done anything lately?” she wondered. “For yourself, I mean.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. For some reason, I couldn’t think of anything. Well, I could think of one thing—a nice bottle of wine—but I wasn’t going to say that.
“Uh, I don’t know,” I finally admitted, shrugging.
Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You should. You need to.”
I nodded, but my mind was elsewhere, drifting back to a time when I didn’t have to think about questions like that. When life was easy in all the ways it wasn’t now.
When I was still with Cillian.
Our marriage had nothing to do with love, but it did provide stability, security, and distance from chaos.
Cillian had never demanded anything from me. He was hardly ever there anyway. The whole arrangement was purely for show, a partnership built on appearances and mutual indifference. He kept his affairs quiet, and I kept mine even quieter. It hadn’t been perfect, but it had worked.
I never overdid it. I never asked for more than I needed. That was what had made it easy, simple, but simplicity didn’t last.
I’d never told my mom about Cillian—about the roles I’d let myself slip into because they’d seemed like the best option at the time. I didn’t want her to know I’d taken that route. That I’d tied myself to the kind of people she’d always warned me about.
And yet Cillian wasn’t the worst of them. Sure, he may have been colder than most, but he was never cruel. Not to me anyway. He’d never asked me for more than I could give, and he’d always made sure I had what I needed.
In his own strange way, he’d taken care of me.
I shifted in the chair, the plastic arms digging into my sides. I could feel Mama watching me, waiting for me to say something.
What could I tell her? That I’d traded love for security? That I’d built a life that wasn’t really mine, and now I didn’t know how to get it back?
No.
I couldn’t do that.
Not to her. She had enough to worry about without adding my mistakes to the list.
“I can try,” I said.
She leaned back against her pillow, her eyes drifting slowly shut. For a moment I thought she’d fallen asleep.
My chest ached harder, because all I wanted was to lie down beside her and be that girl again—the one who cried at novellas, who wanted to keep the dog for herself, who felt things instead of running from them.
But I didn’t. I stayed another five minutes until she drifted off to sleep, and then I left like I always did.
I walked slowly toward the elevator, my footsteps echoing softly on the pale, shiny floor. My coat felt heavier now, like I’d stuffed it full of all the unsaid words I’d held back during those couple of minutes.
When the elevator doors opened, I stepped inside, leaning against the cold metal wall, grateful for its support. I was too tired, too drained, to pretend anymore—not that I’d ever been particularly good at it. But pretending was safer than being honest. It always had been.
I looked back once before stepping onto the street. My attention lingered on the bright lights coming from the third-floor windows above me. I wondered if Mama was still asleep or if she’d woken up to an empty chair beside her, wondering again why I couldn’t just stay.
Maybe next time I’d stay even longer. But the thing about “maybe” was that it wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t even close. It was just a word I whispered to myself over and over when the truth was too heavy to carry.
I pulled my coat tighter around myself and headed to the subway.
The platform was scattered with people but mostly empty. A stranger in a hoodie cat-called me—“Mami,”he said, dragging it out as if he owned me. I didn’t react. Didn’t even glance his way. Men like that thrived on attention. You snapped back, and they were encouraged; you ignored them, and suddenly, they were insulted. Either way, you lost.
My feet ached in my heels, and I leaned against one of the metal pillars, clutching my purse tighter than necessary. The train couldn’t come fast enough. The longer I waited, the more exposed I felt, like anyone could look at me and know exactly how fragile I’d become.
