The house felt eerily quiet without him.
David's things were still scattered around—his favorite coffee mug on the counter, the jacket he always tossed on the back of the chair, the scent of his cologne still faintly lingering in the hallway. It was like he hadn't fully left, but the emptiness of his absence was more suffocating than I had imagined.
I stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring blankly at the mess that had accumulated over the last few days. Plates piled in the sink, toys scattered across the floor, a half-finished grocery list sitting forgotten on the counter. Everything was a reminder of how much had changed in such a short time. It felt like I was standing in the ruins of a life that no longer fit.
The twins were still asleep, their small faces peaceful, unaware of the storm that had passed through their world. I knew I had to hold it together for them. No matter how shattered I felt inside, they needed stability, not a mother who was falling apart at the seams.
I let out a long breath, trying to focus on the small, mundane task in front of me. Cleaning. It was simple, mindless. At least I could control the clutter, even if I couldn't control everything else.
One step at a time, I told myself.
As I scrubbed the dishes, I heard the soft thump of footsteps coming down the hallway. I turned to see Lilly, her blond curls a messy halo around her head, clutching her favorite stuffed rabbit to her chest. She rubbed her eyes sleepily and yawned.
"Mommy?" she asked, her voice small. "Is Daddy home?"
My heart clenched at the question, but I forced a smile, kneeling down to pull her into a hug. "Not today, sweetheart," I said softly, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "But I'm here, okay?"
Lilly nodded, resting her head on my shoulder, her little arms wrapping around me. For a moment, I just held her, feeling the warmth of her small body against mine. I had to be strong for them. If nothing else, I owed them that.
"I'm hungry," she mumbled into my shoulder.
"What do you want for breakfast?" I asked, trying to sound cheerful.
"Pancakes," she said without hesitation.
"Pancakes it is," I replied, forcing more energy into my voice than I felt. I kissed the top of her head and set her down gently. "Go sit at the table. I'll get started."
As I whisked the batter, my mind raced with a million thoughts, but one kept surfacing, louder than the rest: What now?
David was gone. The marriage I had invested so much of myself in had collapsed, and now it was just me. Me and the kids. I had always been the one who kept things running smoothly, the one who made sure everything was okay. But now, there was no one to catch me if I fell. I was on my own.
I was pulled from my thoughts by the sound of Tommy padding into the kitchen, his little face still puffy from sleep. He rubbed his eyes and looked up at me.
"Can I help?" he asked, his voice still groggy.
I smiled at him, a genuine one this time. "Of course. Come stir the batter for me."
Tommy climbed up on the stool, gripping the spoon with his little hands, and began stirring. His focused expression made me smile. It was these small moments that grounded me, reminded me of what I still had.
"You're good at this," I said, nudging him gently with my elbow.
"I know," he said, a serious look on his face. "I'm gonna be a chef one day."
"Oh yeah?" I laughed, feeling a flicker of joy for the first time in what felt like days. "You'll be the best chef in the world."
The pancakes sizzled on the stove as Tommy kept stirring the batter. I glanced at the pile of bills on the counter, my stomach twisting. I had always let David handle the finances. Now, the responsibility fell squarely on my shoulders. There was no more "us" to fall back on. It was just me.
"Is Daddy coming back?" Tommy's question was so casual, so innocent, but it hit me like a punch to the gut.
I hesitated for a moment, my heart heavy. "Not today," I said, keeping my tone steady. "But we're going to be okay, you know that?"
He nodded, though I wasn't sure if he understood. "Yeah. I know."
I smiled, but the weight of those words sat on my chest like a stone. I had to believe them. For them.
After breakfast, I made a list of small things I could do—things I had neglected for too long. The first thing on the list: sort out my finances. I sat down with the bills and began to sift through them, organizing them into piles. It was tedious and stressful, but each bill I handled felt like another small victory, another piece of my life I was reclaiming.
Later, I took the kids to the park. It was a warm, sunny day, and they needed the fresh air as much as I did. As they ran around, laughing and chasing each other, I sat on the bench, watching them, thinking about how resilient children could be. They would be okay. And if they could be okay, so could I.
When we got home, I took another small step. I opened the closet in the bedroom—David's closet—and began packing his things. It hurt, more than I expected, but it was necessary. This space needed to be mine again. It was time to stop pretending he was coming back.
Piece by piece, I folded his clothes, boxed up his shoes, and cleared the shelves. With every item I removed, the room felt lighter, as if the weight of our shared past was slowly lifting from my shoulders.
Lilly wandered into the room, watching me quietly for a moment before asking, "Why are you packing Daddy's clothes?"
I hesitated, unsure how to explain. "Daddy won't be living here anymore," I said carefully. "But you'll still see him. He just needs his things for his new place."
"Okay," she said simply, accepting it with the innocence only a child could. "Can we go to the park again tomorrow?"
I smiled, my heart aching and healing all at once. "Sure, sweetie. We can go to the park tomorrow."
By the time I finished packing, the closet was empty, a blank canvas, waiting to be filled with something new. Just like me.