The distance between us

at 6:17 every morning, Beatrice’s alarm rang with the same determination she wished she possessed. She reached out from beneath the covers and silenced it before it could ring a second time. For three seconds, she remained still. Then reality returned. “Mom!” Beatrice closed her eyes. “Mom!” “I’m awake, Theo.” “You said that yesterday and slept for another twenty minutes.” Beatrice opened one eye. Her eight-year-old son stood in the doorway, already dressed in his school uniform, his backpack hanging from one shoulder and his glasses sitting slightly crooked on his nose. He looked entirely too pleased with himself. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Beatrice asked. “Because you were sleeping.” “I know.” “You said you were awake.” “I am awake now.” Theo nodded thoughtfully. “Technically.” Beatrice sighed and pushed herself out of bed. “Go and eat your breakfast.” “I already did.” She stopped. “You did?” “Yes.” “What did you eat?” “Two slices of bread and an egg.” “Who made the egg?” “I did.” Beatrice stared at him. Theo smiled. “I only burned one side.” She laughed despite herself. This was how most mornings went. Chaotic. Rushed. Loud. And somehow, hers. By 7:03, Beatrice was standing in front of the mirror, trying to fix her hair while simultaneously checking emails on her phone. Twenty-three unread messages. Three missed calls. Two calendar reminders. One message from her boss asking why a report that had been due at eight the previous evening had not yet been sent. Beatrice stared at the message. She had sent the report. She remembered sending it. She opened her sent folder. There it was. She typed a short reply. Good morning, sir. The report was sent yesterday at 7:42 p.m. Kindly check your inbox. She hesitated before adding: Thank you. She deleted “Thank you.” Then typed it again. She knew better than to test the patience of the man who signed her paycheck. “Mom?” “Yes?” “Are we going?” “Yes.” “You’re still not dressed.” “I’m wearing clothes.” “Those aren’t work clothes.” Beatrice looked down at herself. A simple fitted blouse and skirt. “How old are you again?” “Eight.” “And already criticizing my clothes?” “I’m just observing.” She shook her head. “You observe too much.” Theo grinned. “I like knowing things.” “I know.” “That’s why I asked about boarding school.” Beatrice’s hand stopped. She slowly turned toward him. “Who told you about boarding school?” “No one.” “Then why are you asking?” “You were talking to Auntie Grace last night.” Beatrice remembered. She had forgotten that Theo was awake. “I wasn’t talking about you.” “You said it would be easier if I went to boarding school.” Her heart tightened. “I didn’t say that.” “You said, ‘Maybe boarding school will be better for him.’” Beatrice looked away. Children were supposed to forget things. Theo remembered everything. Every promise. Every contradiction. Every careless sentence spoken when adults thought they weren’t listening. “Boarding school isn’t a punishment,” she said quietly. “I know.” “It can be a good thing.” “Do you want me to go?” The question was simple. The answer wasn’t. Beatrice turned toward him. Theo was no longer smiling. His eyes were serious behind his glasses. “I want you to have the best education possible.” “That’s not what I asked.” Beatrice swallowed. Sometimes she wondered when her little boy had become so difficult to fool. “I haven’t decided.” “So you are thinking about it.” “Yes.” “Why?” “Because you’re getting older.” “I’m only eight.” “I know.” “And you’re getting busier.” That one hurt. Beatrice sat on the edge of the bed. “Come here.” Theo walked over. She pulled him between her knees and straightened his tie. “I am busy because I want to give you everything you need.” “I don’t need everything.” “What do you need?” He thought for a moment. “You.” Beatrice’s fingers stopped. Then she smiled. “Unfortunately, you are stuck with me.” “For how long?” “Forever.” “Even if I go to boarding school?” She sighed. “We’re not deciding that today.” Theo nodded. Then, as though his mind had already moved on to another subject, he asked: “Mom?” “Hmm?” “Is my father really dead?” The room became silent. Beatrice felt something inside her chest shift. She had heard the question before. But never quite like this. She looked at her son. At his curious eyes. At the face that sometimes reminded her painfully of someone she had spent years trying not to remember. “Yes,” she said. Theo watched her carefully. “You said he died before I was born.” “He did.” “How?” Beatrice looked down. “I told you before, Theo.” “I know. But you never told me how.” “Because you were too young.” “I’m eight now.” “I know.” “So am I old enough?” She forced a smile. “Eat your breakfast.” “I already ate.” “Then get your shoes.” “Mom.” “Theo.” He sighed. “Fine.” He walked away. Beatrice remained sitting on the bed. For years, she had told herself the lie was necessary. She had been twenty years old, frightened, alone, and carrying a child whose father had disappeared before she had even figured out how to become a mother. She had made a decision. Theo would never grow up waiting for a man who wasn’t coming. So she had given him a simple story. His father was dead. It was easier than the truth. Or at least, that was what she had convinced herself. Outside, the morning traffic had already begun to build. Lagos was waking up. And Beatrice had another twelve-hour day waiting for her. She dropped Theo at school just before eight. He leaned through the car window before she drove away. “Mom!” She looked back. “Don’t forget.” “Forget what?” “My science project.” Beatrice groaned. “You’re doing this on purpose.” “No.” He smiled. “I just like knowing things.” She laughed. “I’ll see you after school.” He waved. Beatrice watched him disappear through the school gate. For a moment, she simply sat there. Her phone rang. She looked at the screen. Work. Of course. She answered. “Hello?” “Beatrice, where are you?” Her boss didn’t wait for an answer. “Mr. James is already in the office. He wants the revised documents before his nine o’clock meeting.” Beatrice looked at the clock. 8:16. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” “You said that yesterday.” “I’ll be there.” She ended the call. Then she leaned her head against the steering wheel. Twenty minutes. She had twenty minutes to cross Lagos traffic, prepare documents, answer emails, organize James’s schedule, deal with his meetings, and somehow remember to pick Theo up before six. Her life had become a carefully balanced list of things that could not be allowed to fall apart. She started the engine. She didn’t know it yet, but that balance was about to change. Because somewhere across the city, James was already beginning his day. And before long, the distance between their worlds would become impossible to ignore.