Chapter Text
It was still early when Lucy stood at the kitchen window, a mug of tea warming her hands. Her gaze wandered to the backyard.
They used to have a big garden—sunlit and alive, with a pool glistening in the summer, a BBQ grill smoking on weekends, a playhouse tucked in the corner, and flowers spilling color everywhere. Now it looked bare, almost forgotten.
She had once loved gardening, could spend hours outside with dirt under her nails and the smell of fresh soil in the air. But since the divorce, she barely recognized herself. She felt smaller. Dimmer.
Her eyes drifted to the framed photos lining the wall—snapshots of her and her family in happier times. Even back when Tim was deployed to Afghanistan or Iraq, and she lived in constant worry, there was still a lightness in her that she no longer felt.
She was so lost in the memories she didn’t hear the patter of small footsteps on the stairs.
“Mom?”
Lucy turned. Her two identical boys, Sil and Zeke, stood there—six years old, tall for their age, with the same bright blue eyes and light blond hair as their father.
“Hey, boys. Are you ready for breakfast?” she asked, forcing brightness into her voice as she moved toward the kitchen.
“Yeah, but can we have cereal? Last time I didn’t like your pancakes. Dad makes them better,” Zeke said as they clambered onto the bar stools.
Lucy’s smile wavered. “Okay,” she said softly, almost under her breath, hoping they wouldn’t notice the flicker of hurt. She knew they didn’t mean it, but still—it stung.
She was pouring milk into two bowls when a cry rang out from upstairs.
“Sorry, boys—just wait a few more minutes,” she said, heading toward the sound.
In her youngest daughter’s room, one-year-old Amy stood in her crib, arms outstretched.
“Hey, sweet girl. Did you sleep well?” Lucy murmured, lifting her into her arms.
Amy mumbled a groggy “yes,” resting her head on Lucy’s shoulder. After changing her, Lucy carried her down the hall to her eldest daughter’s room.
She knocked softly. “Baby, are you awake?”
“Yeah,” came a muffled reply.
Lucy opened the door to find Jade, sixteen, sitting on the edge of her bed. She was the mirror image of Lucy—dark wavy hair, big brown eyes—but since the divorce, her warmth toward her parents had cooled to something distant.
“Good morning, honey. Did you sleep well?”
“I slept okay,” Jade said, rubbing her eyes.
“Are you getting ready for school?”
A deep sigh. A reluctant nod.
Lucy headed back downstairs with Amy balanced on her hip, placing her in the high chair. She set the cereal bowls in front of the boys.
“Thanks, Mom!” they said in unison.
Lucy smiled faintly and began preparing breakfast for Amy.
Twenty minutes later, Jade came down, kissed Amy’s cheek, and muttered, “Hi.”
“Hey, honey,” Lucy said, packing the boys’ backpacks. “Can you take your brothers to school today? After school, you’ll be going to your dad’s for a few days.”
Jade leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Sure. But it’s going to cost you.”
Lucy blinked, surprised. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Jade said coolly. “I’m not your chauffeur. If I’m driving them, I want to get paid.”
Lucy’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m not paying you to take your own brothers to school.”
Jade shrugged, as if this was a negotiation like any other. “Then I’m not doing it.”
Lucy’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. “Okay then. You can hand over your car keys. I believe I paid for that car.”
Jade’s eyes flashed with defiance, but she didn’t argue. “Fine. If you’re going to force me.”
Lucy motioned toward the door. “Come on, boys. Let’s go.”
She kissed Sil and Zeke on their cheeks, forcing a smile. “Have a good day at school, and have fun at your dad’s.”
“Bye, Mom,” they said, their voices bright.
Jade didn’t say a word. She just glanced at Lucy once before walking out the door.
Lucy stood in the quiet kitchen, shoulders heavy. The space that used to feel full of family now felt hollow.
She had just started making her own breakfast when a knock came at the door.
Opening it, she found Tim on the porch.
“Hey, Luce,” he said with a faint smile.
“Hi. Come in.”
As they stepped into the hallway, he asked, “How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine. You?”
“Same.”
“Are you here to pick up Amy?”
“Yeah, if that’s okay.”
They entered the kitchen where Amy was playing with a spoon. “Dada!” she squealed as Tim scooped her into his arms.
“Her bag’s in the living room,” Lucy said, leading the way.
As they walked, Tim gently set Amy down on the couch, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I’ll take good care of her,” he said softly, giving Amy a warm smile.
But the moment lingered briefly before the tension returned.
Halfway through the living room, Tim stopped and looked at Lucy.
“Oh, before I forget—do you want to have dinner with me and the kids tomorrow at my place?”
Lucy’s cheeks warmed. “I’m not free tomorrow.”
Tim frowned. “Work?”
“No… I’m having dinner with someone.”
His eyes narrowed. “Someone? Your boyfriend?”
“Dave is not my boyfriend.”
“Of course not,” Tim said, rolling his eyes. “He’s just someone you go on dates with and sleep with.”
The air seemed to crack before Lucy’s palm met his cheek with a sharp, echoing smack. Tim’s head jerked to the side.
For a second, the only sound was Lucy’s breathing—quick, uneven. Her hand trembled at her side, her eyes burning.
“How dare you?” she said, her voice low but shaking.
Tim slowly straightened, his jaw tightening as his gaze locked on hers.
“I’m just reminding you,” he said, voice rising, “you broke us up. I wanted to save our family, but you wanted the divorce.”
“How can you even say that?” Lucy shot back, stepping closer. “All we did was fight when you came back. When you were deployed, I wouldn’t risk a fight because you’d leave again in a month or two. That’s the only reason we lasted as long as we did.”
“We didn’t only fight when I came back,” Tim said, his tone clipped and cold.
“Oh no, that’s right,” Lucy snapped, “we fought, and then we didn’t make up like normal couples—we had angry sex. That’s why we have Amy.”
“You never talked to me!” Tim’s voice cracked with frustration. “You never told me you wanted to split. You just came to me one day and said you wanted a divorce without giving me a chance.”
Lucy’s lips parted, ready to throw another sharp retort, but Amy’s loud sob cut through the tension.
“No fight!” she cried from the couch, her little face wet with tears.
Both parents froze.
Tim’s voice softened instantly. “Hey, sweet girl, it’s okay,” he said, crouching down.
Lucy swallowed hard, her anger burning but guilt rising alongside it.
“Just go, Tim,” she said quietly. “It’s best for Amy. I’ll see you Tuesday to pick up the kids.”
Without another word, Tim lifted Amy and walked out.
The door clicked shut.
Lucy stayed where she was for a moment, staring at the empty space he had left behind. Then the tears came—hot, angry, unstoppable. She had no idea how they had ended up here. Once, they had been in love. Now, that felt like another lifetime.