Halle: HOW? How are you so peppy after last night? I feel like I got hit by a truck!
Tessa: I’m a creature of my own.
Sarah: I haven’t had a hangover since before Remi. Someone tell me how I’m supposed to parent today?
Halle: Put on Bluey and pray?
Halle: Also, Asher wants to know if we’re still on for swims down at Falls Creek today? I told him to go away.
Sarah: The only way I’m moving off this couch today is to feed my child.
Tessa: Oh come on. Don’t be lightweights. Sunshine and fresh air are basically a hangover cure.
Halle: We can’t all have your talents… or your questionable liver.
Sarah: Has anyone heard from Madison yet?
Tessa: We won’t hear from her until she’s well caffeinated and fed.
I grin at my reflection in the dresser mirror, shaking my head.Well caffeinated and fed—aw, they really do know me.
A soft knock pulls me from my phone, and I glance over to see Mom standing in the doorway.
“Pancakes are ready,” she announces, the smell of butter and lemons drifting in from behind her.
My mouth waters at the thought of a homemade stack. I need something to soak up all the wine still lingering in the pit of my stomach. Following Mom to the kitchen, I quickly let the girls know I’m alive.
Me: Why did we drink so much wine?
Tessa: Wine not?
Halle: I see what you did there.
I snicker, shaking my head before firing back.
Me: Ha. Ha. Very funny. I’m alive, I’m eating pancakes, and I am absolutely not swimming today.
Tessa: Boo you guys.
The zesty pancakes hit the spot—fluffy, tangy, and sweet enough to erase the dull headache. I lean back in my chair, letting out a happy sigh, feeling content in a way I haven’t in weeks.
“Girls’ night good?” Mom asks around a mouthful.
“So good!” I smile widely. “It was exactly what I needed. A night to let loose, not think, and just have fun with my girls.”
Mom beams at me, but the dark lines under her eyes betray how little rest she’s gotten. My stomach tightens a little as I glance at my phone, silently cursing the time. I can’t hide out here forever. Picking up our dirty dishes, I get started on cleaning. It’s the bare minimum I can do after last night.
“How was your shift?” I ask, stacking the dishwasher. “Did the little girl love your pink scrubs?
“It was a long night.” Her smile falters. “Millie loved my pink scrubs. She asked if I could wear them again.” There’s a quiet defeat in her tone, and I can’t help but wonder how long Millie has been in the hospital… and how much time she has left.
Mom never talks about her patients in detail or shares their diagnoses. That’s what makes her one of the most trusted, loyal nurses in town. She always says,It’s not my story to tell.To her, respecting their privacy is the least she can do when they’re vulnerable, when they’re still holding on to hope.
“I’m sorry. I know those long nights weigh heavy on you.”
“It comes with the job, sweetheart.” She smiles softly, then lifts a brow. “Speaking of, we haven’t seen you come in for a while to read to the kids.”
I finish wiping down the counter, my shoulders slumping under the weight pressing down on me. Guilt settles in my chest as I think back to the last time I went to the hospital. It’s been months. The kids always look forward to my visits once a month without fail. I’d make my wayaround to each room, read them stories, play dress-ups, or break out a board game. I loved those moments—seeing them smile, helping them forget the heaviness of why they’re there, even just for a little while. I’ve dropped the ball these past few months, and I hate to think of how disappointed they must feel.
