I thought surviving the tornado would be the hardest part of that day. Then my daughter called me in tears, and I realized someone we trusted had been planning to shut her out.
The sky over our little corner turned the color of a bruised avocado that afternoon. I stood at the kitchen window with a mug of cold coffee, watching it happen. The air felt like wet flannel. My freelance layouts were open on the laptop behind me, deadlines blinking, entirely forgotten.
“Mom.”
Annie appeared in the doorway, holding her hair straightener as if it were a newborn.
The air felt like wet flannel.
“This is coming to the shelter with us.”
“Annie, no.”
“Priorities, Mother.”
I snorted despite myself.
“A tornado is coming, and you’re worried about your bangs?”
“I’m worried about looking like a wet raccoon in the aftermath photos.”
“There won’t be aftermath photos.”
“There are always aftermath photos.”
“You’re worried about your bangs?”
My daughter wandered off to hunt down her charger, and I found myself smiling at the empty doorway.
Sixteen years old, sharper than me on my best day, and still my whole heart.
My phone buzzed on the counter. It was my ex-husband, Mark.
“Hey, what does Annie’s schedule look like the next few weekends?”
It was my ex-husband.
I typed back without really thinking, listing her school activities, drama rehearsals, and the weekend she’d be at his place.
Mark had already cancelled two visits in a row, saying his new wife, Violet, needed “quiet time,” whatever that meant for a woman who posted online three times a day.
A knock at the door pulled me away. Charity, my neighbor, stood there clutching a casserole dish as if it were a life raft.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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