My mom was already there.
She stood at the counter, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing, her back half-turned toward me. The radio was off. The house was quiet except for the low gurgle of the coffee machine and the hum of the refrigerator.
She turned when she heard me.
“Morning,” she said.
“Morning.”
She looked tired, standing there in the soft morning light, wearing an old sweater I remembered from years ago, holding a mug in her hands.
She looked older.
The lines around her eyes were deeper. There were laugh lines that hadn’t been there when I left ten years ago. Her hair had more gray in it, especially near her temples.
I swallowed my guilt and looked away.
She watched me for a moment, quiet. I knew that look. She’d always had it, the one that meant she was paying attention even when she wasn’t saying anything.
“Sit down,” she said.
I hesitated, then pulled out a chair and sat at the small kitchen table. My shoulders felt tight, like I’d been holding them there all night.
She poured herself a cup of coffee, then paused. She glanced at me again.
Instead of reaching for a second mug, she opened the cupboard and took out the hot cocoa tin.
I almost laughed. Almost.
She hadn’t done that in years. Not since I was a teenager. But she used to do it every time she thought something was bothering me. Cocoa instead of coffee. Like caffeine would only make things worse.
She didn’t say anything about it. Just set a small pot on the stove and started heating milk.
The smell of chocolate filled the kitchen. Familiar. Comforting in a way I hadn’t realized I still remembered.
She slid into the chair across from me once the mugs were ready, setting one in front of me.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
The steam curled up between us. I stared down at the surface of the drink, my hands wrapped around the mug even though it was too hot.
“I’m overwhelmed,” I said finally.
The words came out flat. Honest. No buildup.
She nodded once, like that wasn’t surprising at all.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I continued. “With Lily. I mean… I’m trying, but it feels like everything I do is wrong. She’s hurting, and I can’t fix it. I don’t even know how to help her.”
My throat tightened, and I cleared it.
“I don’t think I’m suited for this,” I said. “For raising a kid. Especially one who’s been through something like this.”
She stayed quiet, listening.
“I keep thinking… why me?” I went on. “Why would Matt and Jenny choose me? Of all people.” I let out a short breath. “You know my history. You know how messed up I’ve been. How unstable I was back then.”
I shook my head.
