But the woman on the couch? She deserves to rest, too.
Behind him, his mom, Jenna, stood with wide eyes. "Sandra? Your door was open. Are you okay?" mom pov sandra
We ate pizza on the couch. We left the mess in the kitchen. The dog threw up again (different spot). And for the first time in a long time, I laughed. But the woman on the couch
I looked at her. My beautiful, glue-stained daughter. "Not today, honey," I said, my voice flat. "Call Dad. Tell him to come back. I can't." too. Behind him
That day changed me. Not because I stopped being a mom—I didn't. I still pack lunches and find lost sneakers. But I stopped believing that my worth is measured by my exhaustion.