Page 68 of Peak Cruelty

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#MiracleBaby

#WarriorMom

#MyHeroWearsDiapers

#ChronicIllnessWarrior

It’s the same script, different cast.Photos of women posing next to monitors, captioning their posts with acronyms I know too well.PICU.NG.EEG.A tube taped to a cheek.A mother smiling as though she didn’t ask for any of it.

Some of them might even be real.

But not Rachel.

Not Ava.

I pull up Rachel’s feed again.Stare at Ava's face.At Rachel’s hollow eyes.

There is no justice.Just good lies and bad ones.

I close the browser.

Stand.

The hose is already coiled by the door.I unkink the line, turn the nozzle, start at the corner.

There’s nothing on the floor, but I rinse it anyway.Watch the water spread, then pull back into the drain.No blood.No bleach.Just a surface that pretends it hasn’t seen anything.

When I’m done, I shut the water off.

The floor’s clean.

It still isn’t right.I’ll fix it later.

I walk back toward the house.The day’s heating up.Memory clings like sweat.

Through the kitchen window, I see her.

Still damp from the shower.Wearing another one of my shirts.No bra.

She’s not looking at me—she’s watching the ocean like it’s saying something only she can hear.Arms loose.One knee bent as though she’s weighing something.

She shifts.

Doesn’t know I’m watching.

I stand there too long.

Then I go inside.

There’s a mug in the sink.Hers.

Washed, but not well.Coffee stain still on the rim.

I adjust the handle so it’s facing the right direction.Leave it.

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