I told myself we could move past it. People mess up, right? That’s what everyone kept saying. “If he’s really sorry, and you still love him, maybe it’s worth another shot.” So I took him back. We made a whole thing of it—therapy, date nights, stupid little trust exercises from YouTube. And honestly, for a minute, I started to believe we were doing okay. Then came the cookout. It was his cousin’s birthday, and I hadn’t met most of that side of the family. I was already feeling awkward, trying to remember names and smile when people asked, “So how…
Author: World Wide
I wasn’t even invited, not officially. My sister Salome just texted the night before like, “If you’re free, we’ve got room in the car.” I said yes before even thinking about it. I needed the break. Things at home had been…tense. The plan was simple: drive upstate, stay at a friend’s cabin, wine, junk food, trashy reality TV. I tossed my stuff in a bag and met them in the driveway just as they were finishing up loading the back. Blankets, snacks, beach towels—even leopard print, of course. That’s Salome’s signature. When I climbed in, everyone seemed surprised—but not in…
I wasn’t looking for anything big that day. Just wanted to do something useful for once. Been outta work for a while, bills stacking up, and my pride taking a hit every time I had to ask for help. So when I saw a flyer at the library about a community clean-up event, I figured… why not? A few hours in the sun, maybe meet some decent folks, maybe feel human again. I showed up late, wearing my old jeans and a ball cap pulled low. Grabbed a trash bag and started working my way down the street. That’s when…
I was sitting on a bench under the big oak tree at Maple Park, holding my daughter close while feeding her from a bottle. It was one of the first sunny days we’d had in weeks, and I just wanted to enjoy it—her little fingers wrapped around mine, birds chirping, the breeze warm on my face. The kind of quiet moment I had fantasized about during so many sleepless nights. We were finally settling into a rhythm, my little girl and me. She was eight weeks old, soft as a cloud and just as fleeting in her expressions. I was…
I wasn’t looking to get attached. Least of all to a seven-year-old with sticky fingers and endless questions. My kitchen was my kingdom. No distractions. No exceptions. I ran it with the precision of a military drill—timers, flames, knives, and a rhythm I didn’t let anyone interrupt. I liked it that way. People assumed I was just another stoic chef with a passion for reduction sauces. Let them think what they want. The less anyone knew about me, the better. When Maribel, one of our waitresses, asked if her son could wait in the back after school, I nearly laughed.…
I never thought I’d say yes to something so impulsive. But then again, I’d never been stuck in an elevator with a man like him. It all started when I was already late for dinner with my friend Rachel. My hair was frizzing from the humidity, my heels were killing me, and the damn elevator at the Royal Marlowe Hotel decided to stall between the 7th and 8th floors. I cursed softly under my breath and hit the emergency button, feeling my heartbeat spike. That’s when I noticed I wasn’t alone. He stood on the other side of the elevator,…
I wasn’t supposed to be part of the group. My husband booked the diving tour for our anniversary. He’s the thrill-seeker, not me. I tagged along mostly to watch, take pictures, maybe dip my toes in the water. But when we got there, one of the instructors joked, “You never know who’ll surprise themselves today.” That stuck with me. I don’t know what made me do it—maybe it was the wetsuit already laid out with my name on it by mistake. Maybe it was the fact that I didn’t want to spend one more year letting fear run the show.…
My daughter asked me to watch my grandson for two weeks—she had to leave on a last-minute work trip. It was short notice, but I love spending time with my grandson, so I didn’t think twice. She dropped him off with a big suitcase and hurried off to catch her flight. Nothing seemed strange to me… until I looked inside the suitcase. There were clothes for every season—fall, winter, spring—plus all of his toys, all his medicine! It didn’t feel like a two-week stay… it felt like she wasn’t planning to come back at all. I called her again and…
I was 9 when my mom sat me down, told me she couldn’t “handle me anymore,” and left me with social workers. She said it was “temporary.” I waited two years. At 11, I mailed her a birthday card. It came back unopened, “Return to sender.” The social worker said she’d moved and left no forwarding address. I asked, “Will she come back?” She didn’t answer. But I saw it in her eyes. By 13, I stopped hoping. I was in my third foster home. I stopped asking questions about why. At 29, I was married and had a family.…
