"Okay," I whispered into my fist. "Okay. Breathe."
I stayed there, listening to the silence.
I cried until it felt like bruising from the inside out, but not just for me. It was for the questions that would come in the morning. For the kids asking questions I couldn't lie about, and couldn't fully explain without breaking something in them.
At six sharp, my youngest climbed into bed with me, dragging her blanket like a cape. She curled against me.
"Mommy," Rose mumbled. "Is Daddy making pancakes?"
My heart cracked wide open.
"Is Daddy making pancakes?"
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