Chapter 5 -Morning Rush
1074 Words
I woke to the sound of my alarm.
Five o'clock.
Even without it, my body would have woken at the same time.
Every.
Single.
Day.
It had become a habit.
Those quiet hours before sunrise gave me enough time to prepare myself mentally for the day ahead.
I stretched lazily before getting out of bed.
The first thing I always did was make the bed.
A small habit.
One simple task completed before the rest of the world demanded my attention.
After tying back the curtains, I cracked open the bedroom window.
Cool morning air drifted inside.
I closed my eyes and took a slow, deep breath.
Serene.
Morning had always been my favourite part of the day.
Before the traffic.
Before the endless notifications.
Before responsibilities came knocking one after another.
Just silence.
Just peace.
I made my way to the kitchen and prepared a simple breakfast for Zayn and Zarra.
They never ate much in the morning, but I always made sure they had something before leaving for school.
Some days it was boiled eggs and toast.
Other days, peanut butter sandwiches.
This morning, I settled on chicken wraps.
Simple.
Quick.
Enough to keep two growing children happy.
Once breakfast was ready, I walked into the living room and opened the curtains just enough to let the morning light spill across the floor.
Then I switched on my robot vacuum.
Vacuum.
Mop.
Steam.
One of the best investments I had ever made.
While it quietly made its way around the house, I sank into the couch with my cup of warm lemon water.
Contrary to what most people imagined, the house wasn't difficult to maintain.
The kids knew that toys belonged in the playroom.
Books belonged on the shelves.
Shoes belonged on the rack.
Of course, there were days when the laundry piled up.
Usually when migraines knocked me flat or I came down with the flu.
But on most days...
Our little home stayed just the way I liked it.
Lived in.
Comfortable.
Peaceful.
There were still fifteen minutes before I needed to wake the kids.
My phone buzzed.
Adam.
Great.
What a wonderful way to start the day.
My fingers hovered over the notification.
For a brief moment, I considered ignoring it.
Before I could even decide, another message arrived.
Morning, sunshine.
Are you awake?
I rolled my eyes.
Why was I even entertaining this conversation?
I could ignore him.
I could block him.
It would take less than five seconds.
Yet...
I didn't.
Maybe curiosity really was a dangerous thing.
Morning, I replied.
Without waiting for his response, I placed my phone back on the coffee table.
The kids came first.
As always.
I walked toward Zayn's bedroom and gently pushed the door open.
He was already awake.
Of course he was.
My sweet boy was sitting cross-legged on his bed, quietly reading a book as though six in the morning was the most normal time in the world to start a new chapter.
He looked up and smiled when he saw me.
"Morning, Mama."
"Morning, sweetheart."
"Did you sleep well?"
He nodded before carefully placing a bookmark between the pages.
"I think I dreamed about dinosaurs."
I laughed softly.
"Only you would dream about dinosaurs."
He grinned.
"Come on. Let's wake your sister."
He jumped off the bed immediately.
That was another thing about Zayn.
He never complained.
Never bargained for five more minutes.
Never buried himself under the blanket pretending not to hear me.
While he headed toward Zarra's room, I returned to the kitchen to prepare their lunch boxes.
"Mama!"
I smiled to myself.
Right on cue.
"I don't want to wake up!"
That was definitely Zarra.
"I know you're awake," I called back, trying to hide my laughter.
"No..."
"Really?"
Silence.
Then...
Giggles.
The next thirty minutes disappeared into our usual weekday routine.
Showers.
School uniforms.
Missing socks.
Hair brushing.
Lunch boxes.
And one little girl who insisted that her unicorn hair clip matched her shoes.
By the time we finally gathered around the dining table, breakfast was ready.
Breakfast was simple, just the way weekday mornings should be.
Between bites, Zarra happily talked about the dance practice they would be having later that day, while Zayn quietly listened, occasionally correcting her whenever she exaggerated the story.
I mostly listened.
These little conversations...
They were my favourite part of the morning.
The house felt wonderfully alive.
Once breakfast was over, I poured myself another cup of coffee.
My phone buzzed.
Adam.
I glanced at the screen.
Sorry.
I fell asleep.
I stared at the message for a second before locking the screen again.
Whatever he wanted...
It could wait.
I grabbed my car keys, helped the kids into the car, and drove them to school.
I arrived home to several notifications from Adam.
A string of messages.
And one missed call.
I groaned.
Seriously?
With a sigh, I unlocked my phone and opened the chat.
Hey.
You've gone quiet.
Are you busy?
This time, I decided to reply.
Short.
Cold.
Hopefully enough to make him stop.
I'm a mother of two.
Mornings are always busy.
I have to get my kids ready and send them to school.
I pressed send.
Then added another message.
And I don't like phone calls.
Unless it's an emergency.
He was online.
His reply came almost immediately.
I'm sorry.
I didn't mean to interrupt your morning.
I sighed.
The irritation I'd been holding back finally surfaced.
What do you want, Adam?
There.
No sugarcoating.
No pretending. Just a simple question.
His typing indicator appeared almost instantly.
I just wanted to be friends.
A few seconds passed before another message arrived.
I'm sorry.
I shouldn't be bothering someone's wife.
I blinked.
Wife?
The word stayed with me longer than it should have.
Once upon a time, that title had belonged to me.
I had worn it with hope, then with patience, then with exhaustion. By the end, it had felt less like a promise and more like a weight tied around my chest.
Adam didn't know that, of course.
To him, I was probably just a woman with two children, a house, and a man somewhere in the picture.
I stared at the screen.
He was wrong.
There was no husband waiting for me.
There hadn't been one for a long time.
My fingers hovered above the keyboard.
For some reason...
That one word hurt more than it should have.
- Writer
