Bound by business, fueled by desire.

I mumble under my b

ps, like we're pulling up to a mansion instead of a cramped little house

s like the mess multiplied while we were gone. There are dishes piled high in the sink, a mountain of laundry on

ing a smile. "Go change into your PJs,

their kid turns two. He sulks a little but grabs his toy and trudges to his room, his

s find my hips as I take in the disaster zone that is my life. Where do I even start? T

counter, trying to ignore the ache in

n my own, and drowning in bills and responsibilities. But here I am, scrubbing

han a bad date. And my dad, God, I miss him. He was supposed to be the one supporting me, the one person who could make me feel like I wasn't completely screwing up my lif

the counter. There's no one to lean on. No one to tell me it's okay to

ee him standing at the bottom of the stairs, his PJs slightly crooked and

I ask, trying to

from foot to foot. "Why

reeze, my heart sinking to my stomach. How do I even begin to answer that? How

rent," I say softly. "Some kids have a mommy and a daddy, and some have just a mommy or just a daddy. But

what I've said. Then he smiles, "Okay, Mama," he says, wrappin

moment and keep him small forever. "Now, go pl

to the floor, leaning against the cabinet. The tears come before I can

struggle, for the weight of the world on my shoulders. I didn't ask to be both mo

here and cry forever, I know I

oughts. "I'm waiting." He said and I suddenl

ried upstairs to the bathroom w

I whisper