A tired single mom agreed to attend her college reunion for one quiet night away from responsibility. But the moment she stepped inside, the past reminded her that some people never forget who you were, and some never understood your worth at all.
The kitchen light flickered the way it always did at four in the morning, casting a tired yellow glow over the laundry pile I hadn’t touched in two days. I had just come off a twelve-hour shift, and my feet still throbbed inside my socks. The twins were already up, spoons clinking against cereal bowls, arguing about something only seven-year-old boys cared about.
« Mom, you didn’t sleep again, » Eli said, narrowing his eyes at me like a tiny detective.
« I slept on the bus, » I lied, folding a small T-shirt that had a ketchup stain I would never fully get out.
