“You been walking around here like a ghost,” she said. “Barely eating. Barely sleeping. Staring at that phone like it’s gonna tell you something.”
“I’m fine, Mama.”
“You keep saying that.”
I looked up at her.
She was watching me with the kind of expression that said she knew exactly what I was doing and exactly how pointless it was.
“You can’t control this, baby,” she said quietly. “You did what you had to do. Now you gotta wait.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I didn’t answer.
Because the truth was, I didn’t know how to wait.
Didn’t know how to sit in the uncertainty without trying to solve it, analyze it, predict it.
Mama sighed. “You’re gonna drive yourself crazy,” she said.
“I’m fine,” I repeated.
She shook her head.
“Alright, baby. You keep telling yourself that.”
She stood, took her coffee, and left me alone in the kitchen with my phone and my spiraling thoughts.
Day Five
I needed a distraction.
Something that required focus. Something that would keep my mind busy enough that I couldn’t obsess over every twinge in my abdomen.
I opened my laptop.
Stared at the screen.
And then I remembered: I had money now.
Real money.
The kind of money that could make more money if I was smart about it.
I’d always been good with numbers. Good at seeing patterns. Good at calculating risk.
Back when Phillip and I were together, I’d dabbled in day trading—small amounts, nothing serious. But I’d been good at it. Made a few hundred here and there before Phillip told me it was a waste of time, and I should focus on “real work.”
I hadn’t touched it since the divorce.
But now?
Now I had $50,000 sitting in my account.
And I had time.
