12 missed calls from Marcus's mother, seven texts from her ex-husband's lawyer, three voicemails she didn't listen to, and one email from Marcus himself, subject line regarding our separation. She deleted it without reading it. Whatever he had to say didn't matter anymore. He'd made his choice. Now she'd make hers.
She'd stay here just for a little while, just until she could breathe again. And if Adrien Cole and his three kids happened to make her feel more like a person than her own husband ever had, well, that was nobody's business but her own. 2 weeks in, Lena still woke up every morning expecting to find herself back in the bus shelter, or in some cheap motel with stained carpets and a door that didn't lock properly, or anywhere except a guest room with Egyptian cotton sheets and a view of the garden buried under snow. But every morning, there it was. Sunlight through cream curtains, the smell of coffee drifting up from downstairs, the sound of Sophieie singing off key in the bathroom she shared with her brothers, which always led to Thomas banging on the door and yelling about how long she was taking.
Normal chaos, the kind Lena had never had growing up and definitely hadn't found with Marcus. She'd fallen into a routine without meaning to. up by seven, shower downstairs to find Adrien already dressed for work and the kids in various states of getting ready for school. He'd hand her coffee without asking, black the way she liked it. She'd help Sophieie with her hair while Adrien refereed arguments about who got the last Pop-Tart. Then the morning rush, backpacks, lunches.
Where's my homework? Did you brush your teeth? Yes, I did. No, you didn't. I can smell your breath from here.
Adrien would herd them toward the door like cats, patient but firm, and Lena would stand in the kitchen watching this orchestrated madness with something that felt dangerously close to longing. This morning was no different. Thomas couldn't find his math textbook. Marcus had forgotten to pack his gym clothes. Sophieie wanted to wear her summer sandals despite the snow still thick on the ground.
Not happening, Adrien said, holding up winter boots. Try again. But these are ugly. They're warm and they have traction. You're not breaking your ankle because you wanted to look cute.
Mom would have let me. The words came out casual, throwaway, but Adrien's expression shifted for just a second. Something sad and far away before he locked it down. Mom would have made you wear two pairs of socks with those boots. Nice try.
He handed them to Sophieie. 5 minutes or we're late. Lena had learned not to intervene in these moments. They had their rhythms, their history. She was still the outsider, even if they'd stopped treating her like one.