Page 30 of Absolution

We eat on the floor, paper towels for napkins. I try to make them laugh. I let them dip carrots in ketchup just this once. I tell myself I’m handling it.

But the sink is full. The counters are sticky. The laundry’s still in the basket, now with a few socks mysteriously wet. And every time a door creaks or the pipes groan, I turn, hoping it’s her.

But it’s not.

And I don’t know where she is. Or when she’s coming back. Or if she even wants to.

By the time I’m rinsing off lunch plates and stepping over crayon wrappers and puzzle pieces, my temper is frayed. Jemma's asking for chocolate milk. Levi wants to watch something on the iPad. Iris is pulling on my sleeve asking when Jackie is coming back.

I tell them “Soon” like I actually know.

But I don’t.

And every minute that ticks by, I go from scared to irritated to downright furious.

Where the hell is she?

She left her phone on the table. Her car’s still in the driveway. And I’m here playing hide-and-seek with a client list growing by the hour and three kids climbing the walls. I slam a cabinet shutharder than I should. Jemma flinches. Guilt hits instantly, but I don’t apologize. I’m too wound up.

What was she thinking?

What kind of mom just walks out mid-morning?

My back aches from carrying Levi to the bathroom because he didn’t want to walk on the cold floor barefoot. There’s a mystery stain on my shirt from lunch. The girls are bickering. And my inbox is a war zone.

Is this my punishment for snapping? For yelling about the tiara?

Because yeah, I lost it. I know I did. But I was drowning. I still am. Tossing the sponge in the sink, I watch as water splashes up onto the counter. My jaw clenches.

She left me.

She abandoned us.

After all that talk about partnership. About being a team. About never doing life alone again. Where the hell is that now? I rub my face, trying to breathe. I'm overwhelmed, but do I get to leave?

Nope. Because I have a job and a family.

By four, I start making calls. There’s not a long list; Jackie doesn’t have many people in her life outside of family. I call Cory first. Then Marianne. A couple cousins she’s close to. No one’s seen her. No one even knew she left. I try to play it off like she just forgot to tell me, but I’m not fooling anyone. Especially not myself.

Cory pauses longer than necessary and then says, “I might know where she is,” before hanging up. No explanation. No follow-up.

An hour later, Marianne calls me back.

“We found her,” she says. “She went to our parents’ house.”

Her voice is cautious, like she’s not sure how I’m going to take it.

“She wasn’t really talking,” she adds. “But she’s safe. We’re going to stay the night with her.”

And that’s it. No big confrontation. No explanation. No grand scene. Just silence and then:she’s not coming home tonight.

Great. I’m stuck here with three kids while she’s having a sleepover. No word. No heads-up. NoHey Kyle, I need a break.Just gone.

And what the hell am I supposed to do about tomorrow?

Because the kids have online school, Levi has meds and monitoring, and I’ve got three hearings and a client threatening to fire me if I cancel on him again.

But sure. Take the night off. Disappear. Leave me here trying to hold together the pieces of a life you ran from.

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