“Mom, can you keep the kids until seven?” Sarah asked later, her voice thin with simulated apology. “We’re just slammed.”
“Of course,” I replied. The word darling felt heavy on my tongue. I settled Maya with her books, watching the orange sunset bleed into a cold gray. I was watching the literal and metaphorical light fade on this arrangement.
As I folded the final load of laundry, the outlines of my plan became as crisp as the creases in Marcus’s dress shirts. I wasn’t just a helper anymore; I was a woman planning an exit.
