He didn’t like that. I could hear it.
“Denise, don’t start something you can’t finish,” he said.
I thought about that. Then I said, “I already did,” and I hung up.
The rest of Sunday moved slowly, too slowly. That’s the thing about not fixing things. Time stretches. You notice every minute, every thought, every second you might have filled before with action.
Paula kept me busy. Grocery run, folding laundry, small things. But my mind kept drifting back to the office, to the people, to what Monday would look like.
That night, I sat on the couch with my phone in my hand. Another message came in.
This is getting out of hand.
I didn’t respond.
A few minutes later: The supplier’s asking for confirmation. I don’t know what they’re talking about.
I stared at the message.
Then I set the phone face down again.
Around nine, my phone rang. This time it wasn’t Greg. It was Evan.
I answered on the first ring. “Hey, sweetheart,” I said.
“Mom,” he said, and I could hear something in his voice I hadn’t heard in a while. Not panic, but not calm either.
“You okay?” I asked.
There was a pause. “I heard from Dad,” he said. “He’s… he’s kind of losing it.”
I closed my eyes for a second. “Yeah,” I said softly. “I figured.”
Another pause.
Then he said, quieter, “I know about her.”
My chest tightened. “How long?” I asked.
“Long enough,” he said.
That hurt more than I expected. Not that he knew. That he hadn’t felt like he could tell me.
I didn’t say anything, because he trailed off.
“Because you didn’t want to make it worse,” I finished for him.
“Yeah.”
We sat in that for a second.
Then he said, “He’s yelling at someone about money. Something about the bank. I don’t think he really knows what he’s doing.”
I let out a small breath. “I know,” I said.
Another pause.
Then, softer, “I’m with you, Mom.”
That landed right in the center of my chest.
“Thank you,” I said, and I meant it.
After we hung up, I sat there for a long time, phone in my lap, house quiet around me. I thought about everything. The years. The small moments. The things I had fixed without being asked. The things I had swallowed to keep the peace.
And for the first time, I didn’t feel like I needed to go back and do it again.
Monday morning came, and with it the beginning of what I had finally stopped holding together.
Monday morning started like any other. That was the strange part. The sun came up the same way. The air was already warm by eight. Somewhere down the street, a neighbor slammed a car door and started their day like nothing in the world had shifted.
But it had.
I could feel it.
Even sitting at Paula’s kitchen table, coffee in my hands, I could feel something unraveling somewhere else. I didn’t have to see it to know.
My phone buzzed before I even took my first sip.
I glanced at the screen. Greg, of course.
I let it ring twice. Three times. Then I flipped it over.
Paula watched me from across the table. “You going to answer that?” she asked.
“No.”
She nodded like she already knew. “Good.”
