Ethan
Two months in, things finally stopped feeling like I was messing everything up.
Like the ground under my feet was finally stable.
I still woke early, habit carved into me after years of running on adrenaline and guilt, but the mornings didn’t punch me in the chest anymore. The nightmares about Matt, his face twisted and disfigured, asking why I hadn’t been there, had softened. They felt distant now, blurred at the edges. Some nights, they didn’t come at all.
I’d finished my official vacation time weeks ago, but working remotely meant I was still home. Still here. Still present.
And presence, I was learning, mattered.
That morning had started quietly. Coffee brewed in the kitchen while sunlight spilled across the counter. Lily padded in with socked feet and sleep-warm hair and climbed into my lap without asking, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Mom watched us from the doorway, her eyes soft and proud, a little watery.
Her cast had finally come off last week. She’d cried when the doctor removed it, overwhelmed more than in pain, and I’d realized then just how overwhelmed she’d been but had been holding it together for all of us.
So, when she suggested a mall trip, just to get Lily some new shoes.
she’s grown again;can you believe it?
I had said yes immediately.
Now the three of us were there, navigating the small-town mall that somehow managed to feel both too quiet and too crowded at the same time. It was the only one within forty minutes, which meant that on weekends nearly everyone ended up here eventually, orbiting the same stores, the same food court, the same worn benches beneath fake plants.
Lily darted ahead, barely containing her excitement. “Look! Pink shoes!”
I smiled before I could stop myself.
I followed her into the shoe store, Mom close behind, moving carefully now that she was free of the cast but still stiff. Lily hopped from foot to foot as the clerk measured her, chattering about school and Sophie and how she could run faster now that her shoes didn’t pinch.
I crouched in front of her as she tried on a pair, tying the laces with careful fingers. The motion was so familiar now that it didn’t feel remarkable anymore. That normalcy still stunned me sometimes.
“Do they feel okay?” I asked.
She stomped once, then grinned. “They feel good.”
Mom laughed. “Then they’re perfect.”
We bought the shoes. Lily insisted on wearing them out of the store, her old ones tucked into the bag. I carried it without complaint, content just to be there, to be useful.
We wandered after that, nowhere in particular. Lily tugged us into a bookstore to look at the children’s section. Mom stopped to admire scarves. I found myself watching them both, my mom and Lily, moving through the world together, and my chest loosened.
Later, we ended up at the food court.
It wasn’t anything special, plastic tables, the familiar smell of fries and sugar and coffee, but Lily was thrilled by the options, eyes wide as she tried to decide between pizza and noodles and ice cream before lunch.
Mom leaned in close to me as Lily debated. “She’s been happier,” she said quietly. “Lighter.”
I nodded. “You too.”
She glanced at me, surprised, then smiled. “Yes. I suppose I am.”
We ordered. Lily talked nonstop while we waited, swinging her legs under the table, recounting a story about a classmate with dramatic flair. I listened, laughing fondly at the right moments, asking questions. It still amazed me how easily she let me into her world.
When our food arrived, we dug in. Mom excused herself to check on Dad.
“I’ll be right back,” she said. “Don’t you dare steal all my fries,” she added to me, as Lily giggled.
As she walked away, I leaned back in my chair, sipping my drink, letting myself relax for a moment.
