The next morning, the sun streamed through the kitchen window as I made breakfast.
My daughter sat at the table, doodling in her notebook.
She seemed quieter, a shadow of yesterday lingering in her eyes.
“Mom, why did she say that?”
Her question caught me off guard, each word a tiny dagger.
I paused, the toast forgotten in the toaster.
“I don’t know, sweetheart,” I replied softly.
It was the truth, as painful as it was.
We continued in silence, the clinking of cutlery the only interruption.
Later, at work, my mind drifted back to the garden.
The way everyone had just stood there, frozen.
How my ex had said nothing, his silence like a wall.
I wondered if anyone else felt the wrongness of it all.
But life continued, the hours ticking by in their usual rhythm.
Back home, the routine resumed—homework, dinner, bedtime stories.
But the tension lingered, a shadow in the corners of our day.
My phone buzzed again, another message from his sister.
“Can we talk? Please?”
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