I pressed my hands against my face and let myself cry.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I’d divorced Jeff because I thought we’d be better off without him. And maybe we were. Emotionally, definitely. But financially? We were drowning. And I was too proud to ask for help. Too proud to call my parents in Seattle and admit they’d been right all along.
I could hear my mother’s voice in my head, the same disappointed tone she’d used when I told her I was pregnant my sophomore year of college.You’ve just ruined your life.
When the marriage fell apart and I finally filed for divorce, she’d been furious.
You made a commitment. You have children. You don’t just give up because things are hard.
But I wasn’t giving up. I was protecting my kids from a father who did nothing but criticize them. Like my own parents had criticized me all my life. Although, I didn’t say that out loud. Everything else we said to each other was bad enough. We’d had the most terrible fight ever, which was saying a lot, since my mother and I disagreed on pretty much everything. Things were said that couldn’t be unsaid.
Still, I could call them. I could ask for help. They would insist I move back to Seattle. And if I came home with my tail between my legs, I would never be free. I’d owe them. And they’d remind me, every chance they got, that I couldn’t do it on my own. That I’d needed them after all. That I’d failed just like they said I would.
I cried harder.
Trevor whined softly, licking my hand. My phone buzzed on the coffee table. I wiped my eyes and picked it up to see a text had come in from Grady.
Grady
Just checking in. Missing home. Missing you guys. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.
I stared at the message, vision blurring. Sweet Grady. He always seemed to know exactly when to call or text or stop by with muffins. I loved him so much it hurt. Maybe Robbie was right. I should tell him the truth. We could be poor together, but at least we’d have love.
Esme
Bad day here. Glad you’re coming home tomorrow.
Grady
I’m here if you need me. Can I come by for dinner tomorrow? I have a lot to tell you.
Esme
Yes. Please.
I set the phone down and sat there in the dark, Trevor’s warmth against my legs.
I tried to think my way out of it, the way I always did. I could pick up extra work. But where? And with what time? I was already working six days a week and barely keeping up. I could ask Gillian for a loan. However, I'd already taken so much money from her that I hadn’t paid back. I could set up another payment plan with the hospital, but that was just rearranging deck chairs on a sinking ship.
I ran through the numbers again, the way I had at the hospital, except now there was more. The STEM program: five-thousand eight-hundred dollars. New shoes for Madison, and not just one pair either. She'd been growing all fall, which meant everything was too small, not just the shoes. Winter was coming. She'd need a coat. Robbie's laptop was held together with electrical tape.
Every solution I could think of led to the same wall. I didn't have the money. I couldn't earn the money fast enough. I couldn't borrow the money without drowning in the debt. And I couldn't keep going like this—patching and juggling and pretending it was fine while my daughter bled in her shoes and my son hid his dreams in a drawer so I wouldn't feel bad.
I had tried everything. For five years, I had tried everything. It was time to admit defeat. There was only one call left to make. If I called my parents now, they would insist I move back to Seattle. If I came home with my tail between my legs, I would never be free. I'd owe them. And they'd remind me, every chancethey got, that I couldn't do it on my own. That I'd needed them after all. That I'd failed just like they said I would.
But the truth was—I needed them.
I would call them in the morning. I’d admit that I couldn't do this alone. I’d give up everything I'd built so my children could have what they needed. That was what mothers did. That was what I would do.
I madethe call at seven the next morning, before the kids were awake. I sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee I couldn’t drink, Trevor at my feet, and dialed my mother’s number. My hands were shaking so badly I had to try twice.
She picked up on the third ring. “Esme?”
The surprise in her voice stung. As if she’d deleted my number and had to check the screen to be sure.
“Hi, Mom.”
A pause. I could hear my father in the background. “Is it Esme?”
