I sit across from her and lace my fingers through hers. Her hands are ice.
“Did you eat?”
“Yes. Toast.”
I nod, letting it go. I won’t push. Not yet. I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to litigate a piece of bread.
We sit there for a heartbeat, the radio humming a melody between us. She watches me like she’s trying to memorize my face, and the knot in my chest tightens until it’s a physical ache.
“How have you been?” she asks gently. “You look tired, Madison.”
I shrug, the weight of work and Beckett’s dark night and the relentless pace of my life pressing down on me. “Busy. You know how it is”
“You work too much.”
I smile. She smiles back, but the light doesn’t reach her eyes.
That’s another sign. The disconnect.
Dad comes in a few minutes later, smelling of cut grass and sweat from hiding in the yard. His face softens the second he sees me, but his shoulders don’t drop.
“Hey, kid,” he says, pulling me into a hug that lingers a second too long. “You okay?”
I nod into his shoulder. “Yeah. Just checking in.”
He looks at Mom, then back at me. There’s an entire conversation happening in the silence between breaths, a shorthand we’ve perfected over years of navigating the minefield of her mind.
“She’s having a good day,” he tells me, but his jaw is so tight I’m surprised it doesn't snap.
Mom straightens her spine. “I am.”
He squeezes her shoulder. “I know, love.”
We talk about nothing. The weather. Noah being away on a business trip. Piper’s wedding plans, which Mom asks about twice in ten minutes. Rowan’s latest excuse for limping, which she insists is just a pulled muscle from sleeping wrong. I clock everything—the repetition, the distraction, the way Mom’s gaze drifts toward the window when the room grows too quiet, searching for a word or a memory she can’t quite name.
I check my phone under the table. Eight unread emails. Five missed calls. A calendar reminder for a meeting I’m currently failing to attend. The guilt hits hard. It’s the impossible pull between the people who need me and the life I’ve built to stay afloat.
I stand and smooth my hands over my trousers.
“I’ve got a busy couple of days,” I tell her. “I might not be able to check in like I usually do.”
Her smile wobbles. It’s a hairline fracture in the porcelain. “Oh. That’s alright. You’re a very busy woman.”
“I’ll still call,” I add. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She nods. “Of course.”
I hate this part. I hate the feeling of abandonment that will inevitably follow me to the car. I hate that thishas been my reality for so long that I can’t tell where responsibility ends and fear begins.
I step into the hallway and do the thing I should have done months ago. I stop trying to be the only anchor in a storm that’s getting bigger than me.
I text the group chat.
Me:I need help. Mom’s having a rough patch. I can’t be here for the next few days, and Noah is out of town. Can you both check in?
Piper:Of course. On it.
Rowan:I’ve got her tomorrow. Don’t even think twice.
