Chapter 5: Drawing the Line

After calming Lily down, I collapsed tiredly on the couch, staring wide-eyed until dawn.

I watched the numbers on the microwave clock crawl toward morning, my mind racing in circles. The cushions sagged beneath me, comfortless.

With the first bird call, I sat quietly in front of the bathroom mirror, gazing at myself.

The pale light caught every flaw—the tired eyes, the hollow cheeks, the beginnings of lines that hadn’t been there before. I pressed my palms against the cool porcelain sink.

A woman with a messy bun and a tear-streaked face.

I barely recognized myself, hair tangled from sleep, face blotchy from crying. I dabbed at my eyes with a damp washcloth, hoping Lily wouldn’t notice.

I touched my face. At some point, fine lines had appeared at the corners of my eyes.

I traced them with my fingertip, wondering when the years had crept up on me. I tried to remember the last time I’d laughed until I cried.

I tidied up simply, covering the pallor on my face, and pushed open the door.

I swiped on a little concealer, dabbed on lip balm, and smoothed my dress. It was the best I could do with what I had.

I woke up late today. The house was already bustling as usual.

Lily’s cartoons played in the living room, the kitchen helper humming as she unloaded groceries, the smell of toast in the air. The world kept spinning, even when mine felt paused.

Without my help getting his suit ready, Derek was late too, looking a bit rushed.

He fumbled with his tie, grumbling under his breath, searching for his briefcase in the pile of laundry.

The wrinkles in his shirt weren’t smoothed, and he sat silently at the table, staring at the food without moving.

He tapped his fingers on the table, jaw set, ignoring the oatmeal cooling in front of him.

Derek had a weak stomach. I usually got up early to make oatmeal for him.

It was the one thing he’d thank me for, every morning. This time, the silence stretched between us.

But I was too tired yesterday and forgot.

I poured myself a cup of coffee, hands trembling, trying to ignore the knot of guilt in my chest.

Sensing his gaze, I politely asked,

“Will you make it in time? Then I’ll go now.”

I spoke gently, holding the mug between my palms like a shield. He barely looked up.

He sneered, put down his fork, and strode out.

He didn’t say goodbye. The door thudded shut, the sound sharp as a slap.

“No need to trouble you.”

The words lingered in the entryway, bitter and cold. I stared after him, biting my lip to keep from crying again.

Lily and Grandma Carol kept watching me. I sighed, grabbed a few biscuits, and caught up.

I tucked a few biscuits into a napkin, jogging down the walk in my slippers, feeling ridiculous but determined.

“Derek, take these to eat on the way.”

I held out the napkin-wrapped biscuits, hoping he’d take them, hoping for some peace.

Derek paused, didn’t look at me, took them, and walked off.

He slipped them into his pocket, not breaking stride. My arm dropped to my side, heavy and useless.

Watching him leave, I sat back down to drink my coffee, my mind wandering, the mug clinking softly against the table.

The kitchen felt empty, the clink of ceramic echoing. I stared into the dark swirl of coffee, my thoughts drifting far away.

Grandma Carol breathed a sigh of relief and played with Lily.

She turned on the radio, humming along to an old Patsy Cline song, gathering Lily onto her lap for a morning story.

She spoke casually.

She grinned at Lily, ruffling her curls. “So, who do you like more, Daddy or Mommy?”

I was startled and heard Lily say loudly,

Lily didn’t hesitate. “I like both! I need both of you.”

Grandma Carol smiled kindly and glanced at me meaningfully.

She caught my eye, her gaze saying all the things she never spoke aloud. “That’s right, Lily. Families stick together.”

“Yes, Lily’s right. Can’t do without either. Our family will always stick together.”

She gave my hand a squeeze, gentle but firm, reminding me where my duty lay.

She was reminding me.

Her message was clear: hold on, endure, keep the family together, no matter what.

I closed my eyes, then smiled. “Grandma, please take Lily to school today.”

I handed her Lily’s backpack, brushing a kiss over my daughter’s cheek.

“I’ve made an appointment with Mrs. Parker to check out some embroidery at the craft shop downtown.”

I tried to sound breezy, as if my voice didn’t shake. Mrs. Parker ran the local craft circle, and I’d promised for months to join her.

Grandma Carol was very considerate. “You always stay home and get bored. Go, then.”

She waved me out the door, bustling Lily into her coat. “Remember to come back early, or Lily will fuss.”

I nodded obediently.

I slipped on my sandals, pocketed my keys, and gave Grandma a grateful smile before stepping outside.

Turning left at the main gate onto Maple Avenue, I found that familiar little shop.

The breeze was warm, the sidewalks dotted with chalk drawings. I walked past the old Methodist church and the corner gas station, feeling the world open up just a little.

It was a simple art and stationery store.

The sign hung crooked, painted in faded reds and blues, and a bell jingled as I pushed the door open. The smell of old paper and coffee hit me—this was the same corner art store where I’d spent so many rainy afternoons as a kid.

I was a bit dazed. After so many years, it was still here.

The sunlight streamed through dusty windows, glinting off the display of colored pencils. My heart gave a little leap at the sight of my old haunt.

The shopkeeper was very young. When he saw me, he looked a little surprised. “Ma’am, you haven’t come in a long time.”

He wore thick glasses, a pencil tucked behind his ear. His words were gentle, like he understood I needed to be welcomed back quietly.

I pinched my skirt, feeling a bit at a loss.

My hands twisted the hem, nerves jangling. I hadn’t drawn in so long, it felt like another life.

“So now can I still…”

My voice trailed off, afraid he’d tell me I’d outgrown the place, or that old dreams had expired.

He smiled and led me to a small table.

He pulled out a chair, dusted off the table, and set down a clean pad of sketch paper. “Right here, ma’am. No one will bother you.”

“Your drawings are amazing. I admire them. Of course you can come anytime.”

His words warmed me, and I felt some of the tension ease from my shoulders. I settled in, pencils in hand.