Chapter 6

The next morning, Rachel really did make breakfast.

She tried frying some eggs.

The top was burnt to a crisp, the bottom was still raw, and the yolk in the middle looked half-alive.

Ollie stared at his plate, silently praying Rachel wouldn't ask him how it tasted.

I picked up my fork, cut off the burnt edges, and moved them over to my own plate.

Rachel saw what I did.

She seemed like she had something to say, but in the end, she handed Ollie a piece of toast.

"I'll take you both to school today," Rachel said.

Ollie's eyes lit up.

But I glanced at the clock on the wall first.

"Will you make it in time?" I asked.

Rachel froze.

That wasn't the kind of question a nine-year-old should ask her mom.

But I asked it like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Sure," Rachel said.

That day, she walked us right up to the school gate.

Ollie was grinning from ear to ear, holding her hand the whole way.

I walked beside them, but I didn't hold her hand.

Jenny was standing at the gate. When she spotted Rachel, her gaze locked onto her for a moment.

Rachel forced a smile.

Rachel said, "Good morning, Ms. Miller."

Jenny replied, "Good morning, Rachel."

I slipped right between them.

I hated it when adults exchanged those looks that said more than words.

Rachel was there to pick us up after school.

But on the third day, she barely made it to pick us up.

Dylan called her, saying there was a concert that night and tickets were tough to get. He laughed on the phone, joking that she'd been cooped up like a bird in a cage these past couple of days.

Rachel was standing in her bedroom, holding that black dress.

I saw her at the doorway. She was already applying lipstick.

Ollie was coughing downstairs.

When Rachel saw me, it was like she'd been caught red-handed. She gave me a nervous smile.

"Mom's heading out for a little while," Rachel said.

I asked, "So who's going to take care of Ollie's meds tonight?"

Rachel's smile stalled on her face.

I could hear Ollie coughing downstairs.

Once, twice...

I stood in the doorway, holding onto the frame with my fingers.

I didn't tell her not to go.

Instead, I asked about the dosage, how often Ollie should take his meds, and what foods he needed to avoid after taking them.

I asked the stuff adults were supposed to remember, not a kid like me.

Rachel looked down at the black dress in her hands, and suddenly remembered what I told her in the ER, "He can't take amoxicillin."

She walked into the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and started scrubbing off her lipstick bit by bit.

Dylan showed up a little while later.

He stood outside the door, leaning against the wall, his voice impatient. "You're really not going?"

Rachel stood inside, her hair still in curls, but her face was bare of makeup.

"Ollie's still coughing," she replied.

Dylan chuckled. "So what? It's only a cold. They'll be fine on their own."

Rachel kept quiet.

Dylan raised his voice. "Rachel, you're only thirty. Don't end up acting like their babysitter."

That line used to make Rachel waver.

She wasn't willing to settle for a life like that.

She didn't want to be the woman with her hair hastily tied up, always clutching bills and dirty laundry—someone everyone could see was weighed down by life.

But right then, she suddenly remembered the way I stood in the doorway, asking about Ollie's meds.

As a nine-year-old kid, I didn't even dare to make a request.

I didn't ask if my mom loved me anymore.

I only asked if she could actually act like an adult tonight.

Rachel leaned against the door and said, "You can leave."

Dylan's expression darkened.

"You're really serious about this?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"You're nothing but their mom now."

That line cut Rachel deep, like a knife straight to the heart.

Rachel's face went pale.

I stood on the stairs, my whole body tensing up when I heard those words.

I thought Rachel might give in.

But Rachel replied, "I should've started being their mom a long time ago."

Then she closed the door.

The door closed quietly, barely making a sound.

It wasn't like those loud, triumphant moments we saw in movies.