She’s not uncomfortable exactly. Just concerned. You know how moms are.
I do know. Moms protect their kids. And right now, I look like someone who attracts danger.
No problem. I’ll figure something out.
I focus on finishing the soup, chopping carrots into precise rounds, and adding them to the pot. The celery comes next, then the potatoes I've already peeled and cubed. I watch the vegetables soften in the simmering broth, stirring occasionally to keep anything from sticking to the bottom.
The kitchen fills with the warm, comforting smell of homemade soup—the kind that makes a house feel like a home. I add seasoning, taste it, and adjust the salt. When it's finally done, I ladle it carefully into a container that seals properly, making sure not to spill any.
By the time I'm wiping down the counter and putting the pot in the sink to soak, Tommy's awake and demanding pancakes.
“We don’t have time for pancakes. You’ve got school in forty minutes.”
“But I’m hungry!”
“Then eat cereal like a normal human.” I pour him a bowl. “And get dressed. Real clothes, not pajamas.”
He grumbles but obeys, disappearing upstairs with his cereal bowl.
I’m cleaning the kitchen when my phone rings, and an unknown number flashes on the screen.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Morgan? This is Patricia Westbrook. We met briefly at Morgan’s Home Goods during your interview.”
Patricia was the older woman with opinions about single mothers and stable family structures.
“I remember. What can I do for you?”
“I’m calling from the Millbrook Community Center. We’re looking for volunteers for our after-school program, and your application came across my desk.”
I don’t remember applying to volunteer anywhere, but I’ve sent out so many applications in the past two weeks that it’s possible I forgot.
“I appreciate you calling, but—”
“I wanted to let you know we’ve decided to go in a different direction. We need volunteers who can commit long-term, and given your recent… circumstances… we felt it wouldn’t be the right fit.”
My grip tightens on the phone. “What circumstances?”
“The fires, dear. Two in two weeks. People are concerned about safety, you understand. We can’t have someone around children who seems to attract that kind of trouble.”
“I don’t attract trouble. I was a victim at both—”
“I’m sure that’s true. But perception matters, especially when children are involved.” Her voice drips false sympathy. “I’m sure you understand. Best of luck with your situation.”
She hangs up before I can respond.
I stand in my kitchen, holding the phone, trying to breathe through the anger building in my chest.
Attract trouble. Like I’m cursed. Like I’m doing this on purpose.
“Mama?” Tommy appears in the doorway, fully dressed. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, baby.” I force a smile. “Let’s get you to school.”
Millbrook Elementary’s drop-off line is worse than usual.
Two mothers I vaguely recognize from school events whisper to each other as they stare at my car. When I make eye contact, they don’t even pretend they weren’t talking about me.
