Her eyes shone, wet but stubborn. “And what happens when the world isn’t kind back?”
“Then I’ll stand between her and the world,” I said. “That’s my job. It is not to make her easier to love, just to make sure she never forgets she already is.”
For a second, my mother looked like she might argue. Then something in her expression cracked, just a flicker, a shadow of grief.
“You always were too tenderhearted,” she murmured. “It’ll break you.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But at least I’ll break for the right reasons.”
We stood there in silence. No tidy resolution. Just two women, both right and wrong in their own ways, both loving the same little girl and not knowing how to do it together.
When I finally turned to leave, her voice stopped me.
“Eleanor,” she said quietly, “I just want her to be happy.”
I paused at the doorway. “Then let’s start there.”
I didn’t slam the door behind me, but I thought about it.
As I stepped into the hallway, movement caught my eye.
Belle was standing by the bookshelf, feather duster in hand, eyes wide like she’d been caught sneaking cookies instead of cleaning. The faint pink on her cheeks gave her away before she opened her mouth.
“You heard all that, didn’t you?” I asked.
She hesitated for exactly half a second. “You mean the part where you told your mom she’s trying to fix someone who isn’t broken?” Her lips curved into a soft smile. “Yeah. That was pretty badass.”
I groaned and pressed a hand to my face. “Fantastic. Just what I needed. A witness to my emotional implosion.”
“Hey, I’ve seen worse,” she said, twirling the duster like a baton. “Once I walked in on a couple mid-divorce argument about who got to keep the blender. You’re doing great by comparison.”
That made me laugh, a real one, even if it cracked halfway through.
Belle’s smile gentled. “You okay?”
I opened my mouth to say yes, but the word stuck. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’m just . . . tired. All the time. And I keep thinking I’m finally getting a handle on things, and then?—”
“Your mom?” she offered.
I nodded. “My mom.”
Belle set the duster on the shelf and stepped closer, her tone light but her eyes soft. “You need a break. Come grab coffee with me. I get off in twenty.”
“I don’t want to interrupt—” I hesitated. “Plus, I should probably go apologize.”
Belle shrugged. “Or you could come with me and breathe for a minute before you go back to walking on eggshells.”
I looked at her, at the smudge of dirt on her cheek, the easy grin, the kindness sitting right there beneath all the teasing, and felt something in my chest loosen.
“Coffee,” I said finally. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”
“Good,” she said, grabbing her bag from the counter. “There’s a place a few blocks away that doesn’t judge you for ordering extra whipped cream. You can tell me about your mom. Or not. Either way, I’m a great listener.”
“Do you always eavesdrop before inviting people out?” I asked as we headed toward the door.
“Only the interesting ones,” she said with a wink.
The coffee shopwas tucked into the corner of a used bookstore. It was warm and familiar, and nothing like home. The windows fogged just enough to blur the gray morning outside, while the sound of milk steaming filled the air.
