an explanation.
I could laugh loudly in my own kitchen.
I could buy flowers because I liked them.
And when my daughter ran across a room shouting “Mommy,” I didn’t think about the man who had walked away.
I thought about everything that had come afterward.
That evening, after Maisie requested pancakes for dinner again, I carried her upstairs.
Her sleepy head rested against my shoulder.
“Mommy?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Can we have pancakes tomorrow too?”
I laughed quietly.
“We’ll negotiate in the morning.”
Apparently satisfied, she closed her eyes.
Downstairs,
