I looked at her. My beautiful, glue-stained daughter. "Not today, honey," I said, my voice flat. "Call Dad. Tell him to come back. I can't."
They were gone. Mark had circled back, grumbling, and taken them. The house was a warzone. The volcano was leaking baking soda on the kitchen table. The dog's mess was still there. mom pov sandra
Then, a small voice. Chloe had come back in. "Mom? Aren't you driving us to school?" I looked at her
The silence stopped feeling like abandonment and started feeling like space. I realized that from my usual point of view—the frantic, spinning, "everyone needs me" vantage point—I had never actually seen myself. I was always the camera, never the subject. "Call Dad
Mark came home with takeout pizza and a bottle of red wine. He didn't ask about dinner. He just kissed my forehead and said, "Jenna told me. I'm sorry."