Mommy!
1291 Words
I kept walking.
Rowan opened the door of the car and I settled into the passenger seat.
My hands shook as I reached for the seatbelt. He gently shut the door, walking across to get into the driver's seat.
The engine roared to life.
As the car began to pull away from the driveway, I glanced in the rear-view mirror.
Noah was running after us, his tiny arms stretched out, his mouth open in a cry I could no longer hear through the glass window.
*Mommy! Mommy!*
Daniel stood behind him, watching.
I looked away, staring straight ahead. The tears flowed silently now, but my heart, for the first time in years, felt lighter.
*****
One year later.
My first collection sold out in four hours.
I stared at my laptop screen, the refresh button turning invisible under my thumb. Three thousand dresses. Gone.
Rowan found me on the floor in my studio at 3:00 AM, still wearing the clothes from the day before, mascara smudged down both cheeks.
"You're crying," he said, crouching down beside me.
"I am crying."
He did not ask if they were tears of joy or sadness. He simply sat on the floor, leaned his back against the wall next to me, and waited.
"Three thousand women," I whispered. "Three thousand women are wearing something I made. Something with my name on it."
*Claire Williams.*
Not Claire Johnson. Claire Williams. The one who had shown up at his door nine months earlier with a suitcase and a severance package that she turned into fabric samples and a business plan he believed in before she did.
"Three thousand and one," Rowan said. "I ordered one too."
I almost choked on my own laughter.
*****
Two years later.
The boutique opened on a Tuesday.
No celebrities. No press. Just a narrow storefront on a street of narrow storefronts, my name painted in gold lettering across the frosted glass.
People congratulated me. Anita stood by me. I was genuinely happy for the first time.
But everytime something beautiful happened my mind still wandered back to that hospital corridor. Back to the day everything finally ended.
I had followed Daniel. Not because I wanted another argument. Not because I wanted him to finally see me.
I just needed to know the truth.
The doctor had told me to rest. Rowan had gone downstairs to collect my medication while I wandered through the hallway, still weak enough to hold onto the wall every few steps.
*Daniel.*
Noah was holding his hand. They weren't looking for me. They walked straight past my ward without even glancing inside.
So I followed them.
Every step made my chest ache, but I kept walking. Until Daniel stopped outside another room.
He pushed the door open letting Noah run inside first.
"Daddy's here."
Daniel followed behind him.
The door never closed completely. I stood outside just long enough to hear Rita laugh.
Just long enough to hear Daniel ask if she was feeling better. The same man who had told me he was in an important meeting… had come to another woman's hospital room instead.
I looked down at the IV taped to my hand. Then back at the half-open door.
Something inside me became very quiet. Then I turned around once and never looked back. I never knocked. Definitely never wasted my tears either.
When Rowan came back carrying my medication, I simply looked at him and said, "I’m moving out."
He didn't ask why.
He only nodded once… and took me to move my things.
*****
Three years later.
Rowan proposed on the roof of our building.
No grand gesture. Just a Tuesday night, takeout boxes between us, the city glittering below like scattered diamonds.
"I have been in love with you," he said without looking at me, "from the moment you told your husband you didn't need him anymore."
He opened the box.
The ring was simple. Silver. A single sapphire the color of a November sky.
"You don't have to say yes," he said. "I just needed you to know that someone saw you. That I see you. Every single day."
I said yes.
*****
Four years later.
The invitation to the gala arrived on thick cardstock, my name engraved in silver.
*The Claire Williams Brand requests the pleasure of your company to celebrate four years of empowering women through design.*
Four years earlier, I had left a house with a suitcase and a heart stitched back together with borrowed hope.
Tonight, I walked into the most exclusive charity gala in the city as the guest of honor.
The ballroom stretched before me, chandeliers dripping with light, silk and sequins and the low hum of money. But beneath the glitter ran whispers. They followed me across the marble floor, catching on the hem of my dress.
*That's her.*
*She built all of this.*
*From nothing, can you imagine?*
*Nothing.*
Handshakes. Smiles. Congratulations piling up one after the other, each one a brick in a wall I had built around the woman who used to flinch at the sound of her husband's footsteps.
Nothing.
I smiled. Nodded. Moved forward.
And then I saw her.
Rita sat near the far end of the room, one leg crossed over the other, a champagne flute balancing between her fingers.
She had the exact same face as always. The same sharp eyes, always searching for something to disapprove of.
She scanned the room slowly, the way she did at every gathering, looking over the shoulder of the person speaking to her to find someone more interesting.
I had no idea what she was doing here. This was my foundation, my evening, my name pressed onto every surface of this building, and Rita had no reason to be anywhere near it.
But I had not come this far to let the sight of her slow my steps, so I kept moving forward.
"Claire."
I heard my name and stopped. When I turned around, Rita was already walking toward me, her champagne flute in hand.
"Claire." She said my name slowly, the way you say something you have not quite decided what to think about yet.
Her eyes traveled down my body from head to toe in that particular way that was never quite a compliment. "What are you doing here?"
I turned around and kept walking.
"I asked you a question." Her voice rose just enough behind me to catch the attention of the people closest to us. "Why are you here? And dressed like that?"
I stopped. I stood completely still for a moment, not because the words hurt, because they did not. But because there was a specific kind of exhaustion in realizing that some people never change, no matter how many years pass.
I turned around to face her.
"Oh, don't tell me you haven't seen Daniel yet," she said, and her smile widened in a way that held no warmth at all. "Are you still following him around after all this time? After everything that happened?”
I pressed my lips thin.
“I must say, Claire, I always knew you were desperate, but this is a whole new level."
I held her gaze for a longer moment.
"Are you finished?"
Her expression shifted. "Excuse me?"
"I said. Are you finished?" My voice was even. "Because I have a room full of people to attend to."
Her expression carried surprise mixed with genuine anger.
Her jaw clenched. She lifted her hand cutting through the air toward my face, but her hand stopped midair.
Someone had grabbed it.
*Daniel*
He stood between us, his hand wrapped firmly around Rita's wrist. His face drained color.
He was not looking at her. He was looking at me.
- Writer
