Not the expensive heels.
Not the smiles.
This.
And I would do anything to protect it.
Even if it meant becoming someone else entirely.
I glance at my phone, already thinking about tomorrow, the next payment, the next appointment, the next thing that might go wrong.
The stakes are clear.
They always have been.
Chapter 7 - Lucy
I’d planned to work from home today so I could have one day without commuting.
That was the lie I told myself when I walked into the kitchen just after six, careful not to make noise, careful not to wake anyone. Working from home meant staying close. It meant pretending proximity was the same thing as control.
I make my coffee and watch the sky warm outside, while I absorb the quiet. The rare moment of peace in my day. I hear Mom and Em in the hallway and get back to my morning routine, topping off my coffee as the kettle clicks on. I make tea the way Mom likes it, organic honey, not sugar, and carry it into the living room where she’s propped up against pillows, wrapped in one of Em’s Feinberg hoodies like armour.
She looks smaller this morning. Pain does that to her. It carves away at the edges, leaving behind something more fragile than she ever wants us to see.
Her hair has gone more silver than brown in the last few years, thinning at the temples. Her face is still beautiful, with faint lines that frame her kind eyes, but exhaustion lives there now, settled deep. Em has her eyes. I have her mouth. The shape of it, the way it presses tight when she’s holding something in.
Em is a blur of chaos in the hallway, shouts something about running late and lectures and a test... then she is out the door before I can say a thing. So, I turn my focus back on mom.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, already knowing the answer will be edited.
She flexes her fingers, winces, then shrugs. “Better than last night.”
That usually means not better at all. But I don't push it.
I hand her the mug and sit across from her, set my coffee down, and pull the folder out of my bag. It’s worn from use, insurance letters, bills, appointment printouts, and notes I’ve scribbled in the margins at three in the morning.
I go through every page while she sips her tea and tries to get comfortable.
What’s due now.
What can wait.
What absolutely can’t.
Her medications are lined up on the counter in their organizer, a quiet parade of necessity. The newer ones help more, but the cost is brutal. The side effects worse. The specialist we are waiting to see is still our best shot in years.
“I called Dr Teller's office again this morning,” I tell her. “They say you are on the list but are waiting for an opening in his schedule.”
Mom sighs. “Lucy...”
“I know,” I say quickly. “I just wanted to check. I don't want them to forget.”
She watches me the way she always does, not just seeing me, butmeasuring. Mothers know when something is weighing on you long before you say it out loud.
“You don’t have to carry this alone,” she says gently. "This isn't on you, honey."
I smile because she needs me to. “I know.”
