I study her.‘That’s because you’re unhappy.’
She stares at the countertop.‘I miss being seen, you know?Not as “Mum” or “Greg’s wife” or the lady who always forgets her Woolies bags, butme.’
I want to reach across the table.I want to say,Leave him.Pack the kids.Come with me.But I’ve said all of that before, and it changed nothing.So, I sit in it with her.
‘You’re lucky,’ she says after a while, voice low.‘At least you haven’t built your whole life on a lie.’
There it is.
I should feel relieved – vindicated, maybe.Instead, her words settle somewhere sharp in my chest.Because yes, my life looks different to hers.No husband.No children.But it’s a curated version of everything I wanted: independence, career, control.And it’s just as hollow.
My life is nothing but a lie.
I change the topic.‘Have you heard from Dad at all?’
‘No.’Issy lets out a short laugh.‘But his latest wife sent Gemma a t-shirt from their P&O cruise that said “I love Thailand” for her birthday, so maybe that counts for something.’
‘Something of nothing is still nothing.’
‘Welcome to the Hayes family motto.’
I pick at the edge of my Snow White sleeve, trying not to unravel the threads of myself while I’m at it.‘Sorry I left Gemma’s party so suddenly the other week.’
Issy glances at me, narrowing her eyes.‘Yeah, what was that?Where did you bolt off to?’
I shrug.‘Nowhere interesting.I should’ve stayed.’
‘Mum assumed you were off doing something dramatic.’
‘That tracks.You said she rocked up drunk the other day?’
‘Yep.’Issy groans.‘She obviously had nothing better to do so proceeded to criticise the fact that I’m still with Greg, as if her own track record with men is anything to go by.’
‘You’re not wrong.But neither is she.’
‘Mum!Billie stole my crayons!’Gemma calls out from another room.
Issy sighs, then yells back.‘Those crayons belong to both of you.Learn to share.’
I bark out a laugh.‘You’re a great mum, you know that?’
She snorts.‘Tell that to Billie when she finds out she can’t wear her plastic heels to preschool.’
‘No, I mean it.Gemma and Billie are already turning out better than we did.You know why?’
She quirks an eyebrow.
‘Because they’ve got a parent who loves them.Unconditionally.No strings.No disappearing acts.That’s one more parent than we ever had.’
Issy doesn’t say anything, but her eyes are glassy when she leans over and nudges her head against my shoulder.
We sit there – two exhausted women in a war-torn kitchen, covered in glitter, trauma and love too complicated to name.
‘Come on,’ I say, tapping Issy on the leg.‘Let’s take the girls to the park.’
Monday hits hard as I wake up to my phone vibrating on the nightstand.
Ella:
