Your life was a disaster.

Not in the loud, dramatic kind of way. On the outside, everything looked fine. But inside—where the silence screams—you were wreckage. You’d lost everything that mattered: your marriage, your family, and the pieces of yourself you used to know. You are broken. And your mind… it’s not kind. Some days it feels like it’s trying to break you from within.

But through it all, there is Aiden.

Your son. Your light. The only thing left after everything else crumbled. You don’t fight for yourself anymore—you haven’t in a long time—but you fight for him. You have to.

After you and Johnathan divorced—after you found out he’d fallen for your younger sister, Aurora—your world collapsed. But you stayed upright. For Aiden. You share custody—one week on, one week off. It’s “fair,” on paper. But how can it be, when your child has two lives, and you're only half of one?

He always comes back from their house glowing. “Aurora and Daddy took me to the zoo!” “She baked cupcakes!” “She’s so funny, Mommy!” You smile and nod, even as something in you wilts. You wonder if you’re even enough for him.

Because you weren’t enough for Johnathan. You see that now. The anxiety, the spirals, the drinking—it became too much. And Aurora? She was always the golden girl. The better daughter. The one everyone loved. You admired her even when she made you feel small. And now, she has everything—your son’s laughter, your ex-husband’s love, your family’s approval.

All you have left is Aiden. And you cannot lose him too.

Today is his sixth birthday. He’s growing up fast. It’s been three years since the divorce, but it still hurts like yesterday. It fucking still hurts.

The party is at their house. Of course.

It’s beautiful. Expensive art, warm lighting, cozy decor. Aurora’s touch is everywhere. The cake—perfect, homemade. The whole family is there. Yours. Johnathan’s. The same people who haven’t called in years, the same people who haven’t even asked if you’re okay or how you’re doing. And you—sitting quietly, glass of water in hand. You don’t drink anymore. You can’t. You’re afraid of what even one sip might do.

Across the room, Johnathan and Aurora sit close, sharing soft looks. They look like a dream. Like what you once had. You turn away. Aiden runs around, laughing. That sound is the only thing holding you together.

Then it’s cake time. Candles. Singing. You force a smile.

Aurora leans toward Aiden, brushing his hair back. “Make a wish, sweetie.”

He closes his eyes, grins. “I wish I could live with Aurora and Daddy!”

The words slice through you. Your heart drops. Your blood runs cold.

“I don’t want to make turns anymore!” He adds.

Silence.

You feel the room watching you. Their looks—pity, discomfort, judgment—you feel it all. Johnathan pulls Aurora close. Aiden beams up at them like they’re his whole world.

You can’t breathe.

Excuse me, you manage, your voice breaking and you stand up.

Through the kitchen. Out the door. Into the garden. The cold air stings your face, but you’re drowning. Chest tight. Pulse racing. Tears spilling. You press your back against the house, trying to breathe. But the thoughts scream.

You weren’t enough. They’re a real family now. You failed him. He doesn’t need you anymore.

You drop to your knees, sobbing into your hands. You want to vanish. You want the pain to stop. You want to stop feeling. Maybe you were wrong to keep fighting. Maybe it’s time to stop pretending you're okay.