Chapter 2 : The day everything broke started like any other Saturday.
The day everything broke started like any other Saturday.
Daniel had been called in early. A warehouse fire on the north side. He kissed my forehead before leaving, one hand resting briefly on my stomach.
“She’s kicking a lot,” he said, smiling.
“She takes after you,” I replied.
He laughed softly. “That’s either a compliment or a warning.”
Then he left.
I drove alone to my parents’ house that afternoon because my mother insisted on a family barbecue for no reason other than tradition. I didn’t want to go. I almost didn’t. But guilt is a language I was raised to obey.
Jason was already outside when I arrived, leaning against the porch railing with a beer in his hand like noon meant nothing to him.
“Well look who decided to show up,” he said. His eyes dropped to my stomach. “Damn. You sure there’s only one in there?”
My father laughed from behind him.
I smiled automatically. That practiced smile. The one that said I was fine even when I wasn’t.
Inside, my mother hugged my belly before she hugged me.
“Maybe this one will finally give us a grandchild worth spoiling,” she said lightly.
I froze for half a second. “What does that mean?”
“Oh don’t be sensitive,” she replied immediately.
That sentence. Don’t be sensitive. It had ended every conversation in my childhood that mattered.
We ate. We talked. Or rather, they talked while I listened.
Jason dominated the table like always, laughing too loudly, interrupting everyone, recounting stories where he was always either the hero or the misunderstood victim.
I should’ve noticed how often my father laughed at him instead of correcting him.
I should’ve noticed how my mother never interrupted him at all.
But I didn’t.
Halfway through lunch, my mother suddenly clapped her hands.
“Oh! I found the old baby clothes,” she said. “Sarah, I kept them for you. They’re in the attic.”
For a moment, I actually felt something warm.
Hope.
A mistake.
We went upstairs together. She pointed to a blue storage container tucked behind old boxes.
“There,” she said. “That one.”
It was heavier than I expected. I adjusted my grip.
“I’ve got it,” I said.
She smiled. “I’ll go make dessert.”
She left me at the top of the stairs.
I turned carefully, one hand on the railing, the other under the box.
That’s when I heard footsteps behind me.
Jason.
May you like
He smelled like beer even up there.
“Move faster,” he muttered. “You walk like you’re eighty.”
