“Very funny.”
During lunch, Carl insisted on driving Alice home because “Steve had that thing to get to.”
I didn’t remember Steve mentioning any plans.
Judging by the confused expression on my brother-in-law’s face, neither did he.
Across the table, Alice caught my eye and held my gaze just a little too long.
Later that afternoon, she texted me.
Not about Carl.
Just:
“How are you doing, really? I bought too much lasagna. Want me to drop some off?”
After that, she kept arriving with homemade meals.
She held Onica so I could eat while the food was still warm.
She asked genuine questions about my job and actually listened to the answers.
I kept expecting some hidden motive.
There never was one.
“You seem tired, Nina,” Alice said one afternoon while sitting on my kitchen floor as Bradley proudly showed off his dinosaur collection.
“I’m okay.”
“You don’t have to be okay with me.”
I nearly burst into tears.
I blamed the hormones.
That week, I decided to reclaim one tiny piece of myself.
One squat.
Just one.
The oatmeal was spinning in the microwave.
How hard could it be?
Apparently… very.
Something popped in my lower back, and I froze halfway down, arms stretched out like I was surrendering.
Bradley wandered into the kitchen, stared for a long moment, then tilted his head.
“Mommy, why are you stuck like a frog? Are you gonna hop?”
“No, sweetheart.”
“Can you hop?”
“Not currently, no.”
He accepted that answer, opened the refrigerator, grabbed a string cheese, and wandered away while I remained crouched beside the microwave.
I laughed until tears rolled down my face before carefully unfolding myself like an old lawn chair.
The highlight of my week had become my three-year-old comparing me to a frog.
That evening, Carl started again.
“Have you seen Alice? She’s literally the definition of beauty.”
I’d already noticed how often both Carl and Steve complimented Alice.
Even so, I kept my voice calm.
