ELLE — P.O.V.
The house felt tight, like a throat that had swallowed smoke. The day had been ordinary in the small, manageable ways — mashed potato on the children’s plates, a stack of invoices for the coffee shop, a call from Petra about the bakery order — until it wasn’t. The ordinary split, jagged, and revealed something raw.
“Pat!” I called, voice gone brittle at the edges.
“Yes ma’am,” she answered immediately, dutiful and steady.
“Take the kids to their room. Please.” My hands shook as if they belonged to someone else.
Pat scooped Maya and Dorcas into her arms. The girls clung to her like frightened little birds; their tears wet her sleeve. Pat moved with a calm born of years in other people’s storms. I watched them go and then turned slowly, my body a coil of heat and anger, to
