Page 44 of Truck Hard

I laugh, wiping a spot off my cheek. “Maybe a little gentler. You want to incorporate air into the eggs, not paint the walls with them.”

He grins—a real, uninhibited smile that lights up his whole face. When was the last time I saw him smile like that? Before Charlie’s release? Before the court hearing? Before everything went wrong?

The bacon crackles, demanding attention. I flip the strips while Cam continues whisking, his movements more controlled now. The morning sun has risen higher, warming the kitchen and casting golden light across our impromptu cooking lesson.

“Mom?” Cam’s voice is hesitant, making my heart skip a beat. Has he heard something about Charlie too? Does he share my fears?

“Yes, honey?”

“Can we do this more often? Make breakfast together?”

The simple request nearly breaks me. Such a normal thing to want, yet it feels monumental. A step toward healing, toward reclaiming the life we should have had.

“Of course we can.” I manage around the lump in my throat. “Any time you want.”

He nods, satisfied, and returns to his whisking. I remove the bacon, letting it drain on paper towels while I prep the pan for the eggs. The routine of it all feels soothing—a reminder that life goes on, that we can create new memories to overshadow the bad ones.

“Ready with those eggs?” I ask, melting butter in the pan.

Cam brings the bowl over, and together we pour the beaten eggs into the hot pan. They sizzle and bubble, and I show him how to push them gently with the spatula, creating fluffy curds.

“They look like clouds.” He observes, leaning in close to watch.

“That’s how you know they’ll be good.” I bump his shoulder gently with mine. “Want to get plates ready?”

He retrieves two plates from the cabinet—mismatched like everything else in our kitchen, but functional. We’ll replace things gradually as money allows. For now, I’m just grateful to have a space of our own, even if it’s not perfect.

The eggs finish cooking and I divide them between our plates, adding the bacon. Cam pours us both glasses of orange juice while I make toast. It’s such a simple meal, but as we sit down together at the small table, it feels like a feast.

“This is really good, Mom,” Cam says around a mouthful of eggs.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” I chide automatically, but I’m smiling. This feels normal. Safe. Like we’re just a regular family having breakfast together.

We eat in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds are the clink of forks against plates and the distant chirping of birds outside. Sunlight streams through the kitchen window, creating patterns on the table between us.

I watch Cam eat, struck by how much he looks like Liam in this light. I wonder if Liam ever had mornings like this with his brothers—simple, peaceful moments untainted by fear or pain.

Cam catches me staring and raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head, smiling. “Just happy to be here with you.”

He ducks his head, but I catch the pleased smile on his face. “Yeah, me too.”

We finish our breakfast, and Cam helps me clear the dishes without being asked. Another small miracle. In our old life, Charlie would have berated him for making too much noise with the plates, for not being careful enough with the glasses. Or, God forbid, doing the chores that were meant for a woman.

As I wash and Cam dries, I let myself imagine more mornings like this. More peaceful moments where we can just be mother and son, without the shadow of Charlie looming over us. Maybe someday the knot of fear in my stomach will ease. Maybe someday I’ll stop checking the locks three times before bed, stop jumping at unexpected sounds.

Maybe someday we’ll both be truly free.

Cam hands me the last dried plate, and I store it in the cabinet. The kitchen is warm and bright now, filled with the lingering scents of bacon and coffee. For this moment at least, everything feels right with the world.

“Thanks for helping with breakfast.” I tell him, pulling him into a quick hug. He’s getting so tall—soon he’ll be taller than me.

“Can we make pancakes tomorrow?” he asks, hope clear in his voice.

The simple request makes my heart swell. “Absolutely. We can even add chocolate chips if you want.”

His eyes light up, and he opens his mouth to respond—

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