The morning of the family meeting, I awoke with a sense of dread that clung to me like a fog. Our children would arrive soon, innocent to the seismic shift about to shake our family.
I busied myself in the kitchen, preparing coffee and setting out pastries, my hands moving on autopilot.
The doorbell rang, and I took a deep breath.
Our son and daughter came in, their faces bright with smiles. They had no idea.
“Hey, Mom!”
I hugged them tightly, holding on a bit longer than usual.
“Morning,” I managed, trying to keep my voice steady.
They settled in the living room, chatting about work, their laughter filling the space.
I glanced at the clock. He would be home soon.
The minutes ticked by with an agonizing slowness. Each second felt like a weight pressing down on my chest.
