B arely a whisper carried in from the driveway—the faint crunch of tires on gravel, the subtle hum of superiority, the hush of power with nothing to prove. The sinister silence of Carson’s electric SUV was so minimal in volume that it registered as more of a feeling than a sound.
That feeling—doom.
He was early. Of course he was early.
I froze mid-step, like a rabbit in the forest when a twig snapped three feet away. My arm remained outstretched, fingers reaching for the dental retainer half-buried in a cup of applesauce.
My ear twitched. Maybe that part was my imagination. Maybe, if I was lucky, so was his approach.
The bulbs flickered on the rusted chandelier before settling on half its typical light. As if my basement apartment wasn’t gloomy enough.
I gave the fixture a scolding glare as I turned my head to check the window by the sink.
Sure enough, there the SUV stood, an immaculate white ghost, shimmering as it idled in the last shreds of pre-dawn moonlight.
Sweat pooled in places that were never meant to sweat. FBI interrogations had nothing on perimenopausal hormones or the stress of having an ex whose only notable flaw was the fact that he’d married me.
The rogue thought kicked me in the pants, freeing me from my paralysis. Vigor renewed, I snatched up Micah’s retainer, Adam’s hoodie, and way too many smelly teen socks from the kitchen floor.
“Boys!”
I stared into the open fridge. I had no memory of opening the door. I also had no idea why I was standing here. Apparently this was my brain in panic mode—wild bursts of randomness and confusion sandwiched between helpful stints of frenzied action.
I slammed the fridge shut and flitted across the living room, searching for anything boy-related. Also searching for my sanity.
“Adam and Micah!”
With full arms and the explosive energy of Godzilla, I rampaged down the hall.
I stomped my bare feet against the coarse carpet. Only a thin foam pad cushioned the cement beneath, but the echoing crunch was worth the mild discomfort.
I awkwardly adjusted the ball of belongings in my arms and cupped my hands to amplify my volume. “Your dad’s here!”
My drill sergeant voice was loud enough for the boys to hear me even if they were wearing headphones, and stern enough to strike a sliver of fear required to compel them to listen.
Maybe.
Hopefully.
Probably not.
Still, the startle tactic was my best option. “Move, move…”
A thousand sharp needles prickled against my unsuspecting sole. A pulse of pain radiated straight up my leg into my spine, transforming my refrain from drill sergeant demand to barnyard wail.
“Moo—”
My toes clenched. My knee jerked. My body recoiled. I lost my balance, and my shoulder slammed into the wall.
A torrent of G-rated fury threatened to escape my lips. I clenched my teeth and looked down, letting only one of the curses out. “Holy heifer.”
I scanned the floor to find my assailant. Lego bricks, most likely, fashioned into a sole-destroying landmine.
Somehow more socks littered the floor here, as if they’d rained down from the house above. A landmine sized lump hid beneath a larger piece—a set of plaid boxers. Maybe it was another balled-up sock, or maybe….
I stretched my toes and pressed down on the corner of the plaid waistband, then pulled. A dark ball tumbled out from beneath the boxers—a freaking sock.
So then where was the landmine?
Behind me—a squeak.
I flattened myself against the wall.
Another dark ball moved past my ankles, not rolling like the sock, but scurrying.
It echoed the squeak I’d heard before.
It had tiny legs and stabby spines.
And it whipped around the corner into the boys’ room.
It took a moment for my brain to process.
Hedgehog.
Micah and Adam each owned a hedgehog—pets that were supposed to be at their dad’s house. Yet clearly one was here.
Worse, I’d stepped on it. Fortunately for the hedgehog, I’d been maimed before applying any real pressure. Still, my stomach shot up into my throat. The last thing I needed to do was murder my kid’s pet.
How Adam and Micah had managed to hide the spiny beast from me all week was a mystery I was in no mood to deal with. My foot hurt too much, and Carson was waiting.
If I didn’t get the boys out the door, he would come in.
And he’d give me the look.
Imploring eyes, furrowed brow, sunken shoulders—that exasperated expression which said this is why we can’t be together anymore, Erika. That look broke my heart.
Every.
Single.
Time.
Desperate to avoid the look and all the hurt and regret it inspired, I hobbled the last few steps to the boy’s open doorway.
I rubbed my eyes, afraid to look. “Please tell me you’re ready to go.”
When I received no answer, I was forced to look.
The sight that awaited me was not that of my two teenage sons packed and waiting for their father’s arrival. Despite several warnings that he would be here soon, ready to take them to summer day camp, I found a war zone.
Blankets and dirty clothes littered the floor. A Cheeto clung to one of the ceiling fan blades, glued there by I didn’t want to know what. The scents of boy funk, pepper, and lingering flatulence punched me in the nose. Honestly, it wasn’t that different from the rest of the apartment.
Adam lay in his bed shirtless, wearing crumpled pajama bottoms covered in crumbs.
His brown eyes were hooded like he was half asleep, completely unbothered.
Headphones lay over his ears, as he mashed buttons on the Xbox controller in his hands.
There were no shoes on his feet, meaning one—he was in no way ready to go, and two—I was forced to witness the dagger-like big toenail he still hadn’t trimmed.
As I stood in the doorway, Adam didn’t even glance in my direction.
Worse, Micah was MIA.
I blinked rapidly, hoping maybe if I closed my eyes and opened them again, both boys would be dressed, packed, and ready by the door like they were when it was my turn to pick them up from Carson’s.
No such luck.
I dropped the mess of clothing in my arms and stepped between Adam and the TV.
He jerked his head to the side, nearly falling off the bed in the process. Since he still couldn’t see the screen, he popped upright and pulled off his headphones. With exasperation extending his words, he said, “Mom, I can’t see.”
“I know. It’s time to go. Where’s your brother?” Bathroom, probably. I would have crossed paths with him otherwise.
“Eh.” Adam lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug. Since I hadn't moved, he rose to his feet to try and see over me. His tone grew more urgent. “I’m in a game.”
He was strong enough to pick me up and move me if he wanted to, but he wouldn’t.
Ignoring the bobbing and weaving of his head, and the furrow of both our frustrations, I kept my voice even. “Does Micah have his shoes on? Your dad’s here. You two have to get out the door.”
“A few more minutes.”
A few more minutes was teenager speak for anywhere between five and thirty minutes, give or take an eternity if Adam was responding on autopilot instead of actually listening.
Remaining in his way, I called toward the hall, “Micah, get your shoes on.”
Adam lifted on his toes, gaining a view to the screen over my shoulder.
I took a step back, pressing myself to the TV. “I don’t know where you’ve been hiding your hedgehog, but we practically murdered each other in the hallway.”
At that, Adam dropped his controller on the bed. “Where is he?”
His expression flattened. He focused his entire attention on me.
I blinked, surprised. “The hedgehog? I don’t know. Not in his cage at your dad’s house like he’s supposed to be.”
“Mom. This is really important.” Adam put his hands on my shoulders. His eyes sharpened, so did his tone. “Is?—”
My brain glitched.
No. Not now. Please.
It didn’t matter how much I wanted to get the kids out the door for Carson. It didn’t matter that Micah’s retainer was lost in the mound of dirty laundry at my feet. It didn’t matter how much I needed to hear the next words out of Adam’s mouth.
I could not for the life of me move.
Or hear.
Or function at all.
This was the real reason my family was broken, why Carson left me, why love wasn’t enough for the happily ever after I’d dreamed about. Sometimes everything turned white—my vision, sounds, the taste in the back of my throat.
I knew that it didn’t make sense to taste white. But that’s what happened.
I couldn’t explain it any better to the string of doctors I’d gone to see about what I thought was a weird form of ADHD or a brain tumor or something. But there were no answers, not from any doctors, not even in the wildest corners of the internet.
And the internet had some pretty wild explanations for just about everything.
The worst part of my white-outs wasn’t even that they’d ruined my life, or that there was no explanation for them. The worst part was that they only happened when I was with Carson, Adam, and Micah, like my body was purposely sabotaging our family.
While I was lost in the white, panic thrummed through my veins. I fought to ground myself and focus on Adam’s words.
Flickers of color appeared. Shapes followed.
Adam was standing in front of me, holding his hedgehog inches from my face. His eyes were wild. His mouth was moving fast, like whatever he was saying meant the world to him.
It would mean the world to me, too, I was sure…if I could only understand.
I could feel it when I looked at his expression, and the way it made my heart ache.
But I couldn’t hear a word.
Panic spiked, sharper than any pressure I’d felt up until this moment. It scratched my skull and impaled my kidneys.
“Slow down,” I said. At least I hoped the words came out. I couldn’t be sure. As a fog of white pressed in from every direction, I focused on Adam’s mouth and tried to read his lips.
Micah.
That was all I got before the colors faded. He’d said his brother’s name. What could it mean? What was so important to tell me about Micah?
I fought the void, screamed into nothingness, but there was no sound.
When my senses returned, I found myself standing in front of the boys’ TV. The screen was off.
The apartment was silent.
I was too late.
My boys were already gone.
Silver lining? Missing goodbyes meant I’d also missed Carson giving me the look.