“His. He bought it before we got married.”
“Savings?”
Lucy said nothing. What savings? She hadn’t worked in twelve years. All the money went through Eric’s account. He gave her what he thought the household needed.
“Mommy, why is Aunt Sue here?” Ben peeked out from the kids’ room.
“She came to visit, sweetheart. Go play.”
“Did Dad call?”
“Not yet. He’s busy.”
Ben nodded and ran off. Susan looked at Lucy with a mix of pain and pity.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t have a job, I don’t have money, I never finished school. I’ve got three kids. He’ll pay the rent for two months. Then what? Go to my parents? They’re in a one-bedroom, and Dad had a stroke. Where am I supposed to put three children?”
“What about his parents?”
Lucy gave a bitter little laugh. Her in-laws. Eleanor and Peter. They had never liked her. “Too plain for our Eric. Not educated enough. Three children and for what?” In all those years—not one truly kind word, not one real offer of help. Holiday gifts out of obligation. Visits full of criticism and tight smiles.
“I’m not even going to try.”
Susan poured the wine.
“Drink. Today, you get a pass.”
“I have to feed the kids, get them to bed.”
“Paige will help. She’s a good kid. Today your job is just to make it to morning.”
Make it to morning. Then the next one. Then the next. Two months. Sixty days. After that—who knew. Lucy took a sip of wine. It was sour and cheap. A lot like her life, which had fallen apart that morning between oatmeal and buttered toast.
Paige came into the room so quietly no one heard her. She stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame.
“Mom, Dad’s not coming back, is he?”
“Paige, I…”
“I’m not little. I heard everything this morning. And I saw his suitcase in the car yesterday.”
Lucy looked at her daughter—thin, all elbows and knees, braids half coming undone—and couldn’t find a single word.
“He’s not coming back,” Paige said. “I know. I’ll help you, Mom. We’ll be okay.”
And that was when Lucy finally cried. Quietly, with both hands over her face so she wouldn’t scare the younger two. And twelve-year-old Paige stood beside her, stroking her hair and saying over and over, “We’ll be okay, Mom. We really will.”
The first week passed in a fog. Lucy fed the kids, took them to school and preschool, picked them up, got them to bed. At night she lay awake staring at the ceiling of the rental apartment, trying to figure out where she had gone wrong. What had she done? Eric didn’t call. Didn’t text. It was as if he had evaporated. Only the money showed up on her card—exactly what he had promised. Child support. Such a cold, official phrase.
On the eighth day Lucy made herself sit down at the computer. The old laptop, bought before Ben was born, took forever to boot up. She opened a job site and felt her stomach drop.
“Office manager. Minimum 3 years’ experience. Bachelor’s degree required.”
“Bookkeeper. QuickBooks experience. 5 years required.”
“Retail associate. Full-time. Rotating schedule.”
Full-time. And who would pick Maddie up from preschool? Who would meet Ben after school? Who would help Paige with homework? She scrolled through listings and with every page her hope thinned out. Twelve years out of the workforce. An unfinished education degree—she had dropped out in her junior year when Paige was born. No marketable skills, unless feeding five people on a tight budget and mending children’s clothes counted.
“Mom, why are you sad?” Maddie climbed into her lap and wrapped her arms around Lucy’s neck.
“Just thinking, sweetheart.”
“Thinking about Daddy?”
“About a lot of things.”
“Will Daddy come for my birthday? He promised me a doll.”
Maddie’s birthday was three months away. Lucy didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know where they would be in three months. Didn’t know if she’d have money for a doll herself.
“We’ll see, baby.”
On the tenth day her mother-in-law called.
“Lucy, we need to talk.”
“I’m listening, Eleanor.”
“Eric told us about the separation,” came the dry, formal voice. “We would like to see the children.”
“Of course. When works for you?”
“This Sunday. We’ll come by at noon. And Lucy… don’t turn the children against their father. Eric is a good man. He had his reasons.”
Lucy gripped the phone so hard her knuckles turned white.
“What reasons, Eleanor?”
