Page 25 of Shattered Promise

The house smells like sawdust and baby lotion.

I toe off my boots, keep the lights low, and move through the house on instinct. We’ve done this routine enough now it’s second nature. Diaper then pajamas, and that lotion he likes rubbed into his tiny arms and legs. He yawns halfway through it and lets his head fall against my chest.

In his room, I sink into the glider chair in the corner. It's soft and gray, broken in just right. My mom dropped it off a few days after we got Theo. Called it practical and promised I’d thank her.

God, she was right.

That first week, I was barely holding it together. I didn't know what the fuck I was doing. And my mom was a godsend, helping me as much as possible. She told me about the old wooden rocker she had when I was a baby. Said it belonged to her grandma, and she had to stack throw pillows on the seat just to get comfortable or her ass would go numb after twenty minutes, but she didn’t care.That’s just what moms do,she said.

I hold Theo against my chest, one hand curled around his back. His tiny fingers bunch the front of my shirt, holding on like he always does, like he’s afraid I’ll let go.

Now I can't imagine not rocking him to sleep every night. I know my days are numbered, that one night, probably soon, he isn’t going to want to fall asleep like this or I'll read something on one of those blogs that'll scare the shit out of me, and start making himcry it outor whatever. So for tonight, I'll soak it in a little more.

I lower my head until my lips brush the top of his hair.

“I love you, Theo,” I whisper. “I’ll never leave you. Not for anything.”

The room settles around us, still and safe.

And for a minute—just one—I let myself believe that’s a promise I’ll always be able to keep.

10

ABBY

The Uber smells faintlyof french fries and an overzealous citrus air freshener. The kind that clings to the air, sharp and cloying in the back seat. I don’t mind. It’s better than the sterile, recycled airport air or the heavy perfume of strangers squeezed into too-small rows.

My phone buzzes in my hand. A push notification from my work email lights up the screen.

Thanks for the report,Abby. It was perfect as always. You’ve got two full weeks before we kick off the next quarter’s banquet planning, so enjoy the time off—you’ve more than earned it. IT will send over remote access instructions tomorrow in case you need them. But really—rest. It’ll be a slow stretch. Take advantage of it.

-Debra

I reread it twice,my thumb hovering over the screen.

Iamgrateful. Debra’s a wonderful boss—supportive, trusting, the kind of person who doesn’t hover or micromanage.

But still. That familiar tightness coils in my chest. Because I don’t know how to rest. Not really. Not when I’m used to pushing myself to the edge of burnout just to make sure no one’s disappointed. Not when stillness feels more like a void to fill than a break to take.

She says I’ve earned the time off. But all I can think about is the next deadline. The next list. The next thing I need to prove I can handle without dropping the ball.

I close my email and stare out the window.

It’s past nine. The sky’s gone full dark, but the superstore just off the highway in Maple Grove glows like a lighthouse. Huge blue letters buzz faintly above the doors, flickering at the edges like even the sign has had a long day.

The Uber pulls into the fire lane, tires crunching softly over loose gravel. I thank the driver and haul my bags out of the trunk, one in each hand. The sliding glass doors part with a soft whoosh, and I step into the bright, too-cold chill of fluorescent light and late-night quiet.

Only a few carts are corralled near the entrance, and the parking lot is mostly empty—just how I hoped it’d be. Somewhere down one of the aisles, I catch the faint squeak of a restocking cart and the low murmur of employees talking about their weekend. The whole store feels like it’s exhaling. Dim, quiet, easy to disappear into.

I pull a cart from the row and hoist my suitcases inside, tucking them in like precious cargo, leaving one corner open. Just enough room for the essentials. The front fold-down seat—the one meant for little kids—is already jammed with my tote bag. It’s all improvisation at this point.

I push the cart forward, wheels groaning under the weight, and catch a glimpse of myself in the freezer aisle glass as I pass. I barely recognize me.

I watched a twenty-minute video on the plane about color theory. How to layer green eyeshadow under concealer, how to press peach tones over purple-blue skin, how to set it all with a light hand and a prayer. I did my best in the airport bathroom, I really did. But it wasn’t enough.

So the sunglasses stay on. Even now,inside.

My hair’s down, on purpose. Long enough to fall into my face, just in case. I know I look ridiculous. But it’s better than the alternative.

---