A Bigger Place
Spring arrived slowly in Ohio.
The snow turned to gray slush, then rain, then green lawns. I took extra weekend shifts, not because my father had threatened to stop helping me—he had never helped—but because I wanted a bigger place.
Nothing fancy. Just two bedrooms, maybe a small balcony, maybe a kitchen where the children could do homework while I cooked.
In May, Vanessa called from a number I did not recognize.
I answered because I thought it might be the school.
She did not greet me.
“Mom’s birthday is Saturday,” she said. “She’s miserable. Dad is impossible. The kids keep asking why you hate us.”
“I do not hate your children.”
“But you hate me?”
I looked out the window at Lily riding her scooter along the sidewalk while Noah timed her with my phone.
