“No,” I say instantly.
She looks at me. “Why?”
“Because I see you with your kids,” I say. “You’re good with them. They adore you—”
“In public,” she cuts in. “When people are watching.” Her voice sharpens. “Behind closed doors I’m short-tempered. I yell. I get overstimulated and annoyed, and I hate it. Everyone’s so quick to say,‘Oh, you’re such a good mom, you’re doing great!’—throwing affirmations around like confetti.” She laughs bitterly. “It’s bullshit. No one knows what it’s really like. Everyone’s a liar.”
The words hit heavy.
My throat tightens so hard it almost hurts.
Cody wasn’t exaggerating. Nothing you say can pull someone out of this. There’s no right sentence. No reassurance strong enough.
And all I can think is how desperately lonely this must feel—being surrounded by people and still believing none of them truly see you, let alone understand you.
“I still think Cody deserves someone else,” she says, her voice cracking. “Someone who isn’t like this. Someone stable. Solid. Not…brittle and broken.”
The words come apart as she says them, each one dragging more tears with it. Her sniffles are heavy, chest hitching like she’s fighting a losing battle with her own thoughts.
My throat tightens until it hurts.
I know I haven’t known her long, but I know this…this isn’t her. This is something sitting on her, weighing her down, telling her lies in her own voice.
I move closer without thinking, sitting beside her and pulling her into me. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and hold her tight, her forehead pressing into my neck as she breaks.
Her crying sets something off in me too. My eyes burn. My chest aches.
“Cody loves you,” I say firmly, even as my voice trembles. “Your kids love you. We all love you.”
She clings to me, and I don’t know how long we stay like that, but it doesn’t matter.
When I leave their room, I find Cody downstairs pouring Goldfish into a small bowl for Emma to take to the living room.
“How’d it go?” he asks. And I don’t have words, I just shake my head.
“She needs more than therapy, Cody.” I wipe the corners of my eyes.
He looks down, his shoulders loosening with his exhale. “Yeah,” he says. “I know.”
* * *
It’s about eight when I finally crawl into bed, queuing up some random comfort movie that I’ve seen a dozen times and don’t really have to pay attention to. The AC hums, the sheets are cool, and somewhere outside I can still hear the thump of Mason stacking the last of the wood.
He said he’d be in soon. A shower and then he’s all mine.
The front door opens downstairs, followed by the heavy, familiar thud of his boots on the hardwood.
A second later, he fills the bedroom doorway. Hair damp with sweat. T-shirt clinging to his chest. Voice low.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” I say back, a little blunter than I would’ve liked.
He studies my face for half a second before asking, “You okay?”
I nod, then shrug. “Yeah. Just…Karissa was heavy today.”
His mouth tightens slightly. “Yeah?”
