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“But—”

She holds up a hand. “Non-negotiable. Go read a book, reconnect with your family. Hell, get a hobby.”

I open my mouth, then close it. Helen is one of the few people on earth who can out-stubborn me. I could fight this, but I’d lose. And the truth is, there’s no one in my life demanding my time. No partner. No kids. Even my friendships have faded under the weight of work.

A convenient excuse not to face that reality.

“Fine.” I exhale. “But I’m not happy about it.”

Helen smirks. “I don’t expect you to be. Now get out of my office before I start to suspect youlikebeing here. Andwho knows? Maybe you’ll surprise yourself and actually enjoy yourself.”

I let myself in with the key my sister Claire keeps hidden under a plastic rock that is, frankly, an insult to camouflage. Technically, it’s Claire and Richard’s house—a big, modern place they bought after Lily was born. They invited Mom to move in with them soon after. She’d been on her own for decades, still living in the little house we all grew up in, and they didn’t like the idea of her rattling around in it alone. This place had the space, and the logic was simple: more help with childcare for them, more company for her.

Still, the moment I step inside, it smells like Mom’s house—lavender and freshly baked cookies. A scent so deeply nostalgic it nearly knocks me sideways.

A familiar warmth wraps around me, tugging at memories I’d thought long buried. The layout’s different, sure, but the feeling is the same. And Mom’s touch is everywhere—the floral cushions, the knitted throw on the back of the couch, the armchair where she still reads the newspaper with her tea, just like she did back when we were kids.

Back then, I’d convinced myself that being the best—at school, at track, even at the annual science fair—was the only way to matter. Mom never pushed me to be perfect, but I craved the reassurance of straight As and trophies as proof that I was doing something right. Once, after winning the regional debate championship, Mom had hugged me so tight I thought I’d break, whispering how proud she was. But all I could think about was the kid who came second, the way his face fell when they called my name.

In my mind, there was no room for mistakes or second place. I thought that if I just worked hard enough, controlled every variable, I’d never have to feel that gnawing sense of inadequacy again. Even now, standing in this familiar hallway, it’s hard to shake the compulsion to be the best—to outwork, outperform, and prove to everyone, including myself, that I’m worth the effort.

Maybe that’s why I never stopped pushing—why I buried myself in work instead of forming lasting relationships, why success became synonymous with self-worth. If I let up, even for a second, it might all unravel. And that’s a risk I’ve never been willing to take.

“Mom? Claire?” I call out.

Mom’s voice cuts through my thoughts, bringing me back to the present. “Rachel? You okay?”

I force a smile, shaking off the remnants of old insecurities. “Yeah, Mom. Just… had some time to spare.”

I find her in the living room, curled up in her armchair, eyes glued to the TV.

“Hey.” I move some toys out of the way and plop onto the couch beside her.

“Oh! Perfect timing. You havegotto see this show I’m watching.”

I glance at the screen. A ruggedly handsome man with piercing blue eyes is engaged in a heated argument with an equally beautiful woman.Malibu Lagoon, the title graphic reads—I’ve never heard of it, but that doesn’t mean much. I barely have time to switch on the television, so major zeitgeist shows pass me by all the time. A quick search on IMDb reveals that this telenovela-type soap opera ran for four seasons before being abruptly canceled eight years ago. It has a surprisingly high rating and judging from the comments, a legion of fans just like my mom.

I arch an eyebrow. “Really? A soap opera?”

Mom waves me off. “It’sverywell done. And the lead actor?Ugh, so talented.”

I study the screen. The guyisstriking, all brooding intensity and movie-star good looks. If I were casting a campaign, he’d be a marketing dream.

“Isn’t he handsome?” Mom gushes, as if reading my thoughts. “So good.”

I nod absentmindedly, my mind already drifting back to work. Instinctively, I reach for my phone to check my emails, but a breaking news alert catches my eye.

“Mount Spurr erupts again in Alaska,” the headline reads, accompanied by a dramatic image of a massive ash cloud billowing from the volcano.

I feel a knot form in my stomach. I can’t imagine living next to such a frightening force of nature that could erupt at any time. I’m not sure how those who do can possibly sleep at night.

“Rachel, are you even listening to me?” Mom’s voice snaps me back to reality.

“Sorry, Mom. Just catching up on world events. I’m all ears, promise.”

Mom sighs, shaking her head. “You’re always glued to that thing. Even when you’re supposed to be relaxing.”

I feel a pang of guilt, knowing she’s right. I’ve been so consumed by work lately that I’ve barely had time for anything else, including visiting my mother.