Chapter 11
Pancakes.
I wake up to the smell of pancakes and for a split second, I forget everything. My first thought is Jack. Maybe Alex if I'm lucky. One of them must be downstairs, flipping pancakes like it’s Mother’s Day.
The other side of the bed is empty. No surprise. Aiden’s probably holed up in his office, pretending he’s busy enough to justify not being here. Maybe it’s finally time I get a couch in there. A real one. One he can sleep on.
I take my time in the bathroom, trying not to rush toward the smell of warm sugar and butter. But I’m already smiling as I head down the stairs, ready to thank Jack or hug Alex or both.
Only… it’s not them.
It’s Aiden.
He’s standing at the stove, spatula in hand, wearing one of the old NASA shirts that’s seen too many washes. I stop short, just barely inside the room. I think the last time he cooked for me was before COVID. Back when he actually tried.
I remember how he isolated in the dorms next to the NASA offices during that first wave.
They were on some impossible deadline and couldn’t afford to go home and get sick.
He was gone for weeks. The kids and I turned the house into a fort, ordered pizza too much, danced in the kitchen with music way too loud.
We laughed so hard some nights I forgot to be lonely.
I start to take a step back, thinking maybe I can still pretend I never came down here. But then I hear footsteps behind me.
Alex. He pads in slowly, rubbing one eye, still half-asleep. “Ma, you made pancakes?”
I shake my head. “No, sweetheart. Your dad did.”
Alex pauses in the middle of the room, clearly trying to make sense of it. “Dad can cook.”
I can’t tell if he’s joking. Having no other choice, I walk into the kitchen beside him.
The kitchen is big. I had it expanded during the last renovation.
I made sure there was room for everything we needed, space to cook on one side, and on the other, glass doors and a skylight that spill sunlight onto the long dining table.
It’s where we eat dinner and I help the kids with homework. Not that they ask anymore.
Alex drops into one of the chairs. I sit beside him and ask gently, “What happened yesterday, sweetie?” Both he and Jack had been half-asleep in the car.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I don’t know exactly. Grandpa said he had indigestion, so he went for a walk. Just around the block.”
I nod, keeping my face calm as he continues.
“When he came back, he looked really sweaty. Weird sweaty, not from walking. I went to get him some water and when I came back… he was on the floor.”
His voice gets smaller. I hear the fear underneath it. He sounds like my little boy again. Not the one who shuts his bedroom door and blasts music. Not the one who rolls his eyes when I remind him to brush his teeth. Just my baby.
“I yelled for Jack,” he says, rubbing his nose. “Grandma wasn’t home and I didn’t know what to do.”
I reach out and run a hand through his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead. “You did the right thing. You did exactly what you were supposed to.”
His lip trembles, just for a second. Then he clears his throat and swallows it all down like boys are trained to do.
Aiden walks over with a plate and sets it in front of Alex. Three warm pancakes, butter melting in the middle, syrup already drizzled. A little crooked, a little uneven, but they smell amazing.
Alex doesn’t say anything. Just picks up his fork and starts eating like he’s starving.
Aiden sets another plate down in front of me without a word. I glance up at him and say more for Alex’s benefit than his, “Thank you.”
Alex, finally remembering his manners, mumbles with his mouth full, “These are great. Tasty.”
Jack walks in, “if they’re so tasty then why are you spitting them on the table. Idiot.”
Alex starts to shoot something back but Aiden says, “Boys.” And they both shut up.
Aiden brings over two more plates and sits beside Jack handing him his. “So, I was thinking, after breakfast we’ll head to the hospital. Check on grandpa maybe give grandma a break. What did your siblings say?” he says the last part to me.
“Why would they say anything to me? I’m sure Mom already talked to them.” I take another bite of pancake, and damn, they’re good. I chew slowly, holding back a moan.
Aiden looks frustrated. “You didn’t call them? Or even text?”
“Nope.” I pop the p just to be annoying.
The boys, having cleaned their plates, excuse themselves to get dressed.
Aiden leans forward, his voice sharp. “Why are you being so nonchalant about this? Your father had a heart attack.”
And there it is, his tone again. Like I’m broken for not responding the right way.
I push my plate away, appetite gone. “What would you prefer? Crying? Throwing something? You think that would make him not have a heart attack? What exactly do you want from me? First, I don’t react right to you cheating on me.
Now I’m not responding properly to the man who abandoned me falling over from clogged arteries.
Why don’t you just give me a list of good reactions, and I’ll try to hit all the checkboxes, okay? ”
Aiden opens his mouth to fire back, but a small voice interrupts us.
“You cheated on Mom?”
We both turn. No. Alex stands there, halfway down the hallway, looking even younger than he did this morning. All the sleep is gone from his face now, replaced by something else. Something wounded.
“Sweetie…” I start.
“Alex…” Aiden breathes out.
But before either of us can reach him, he grabs his phone off the counter and bolts. His footsteps vanishing up the stairs. Aiden half-rises, torn. He looks toward the hallway like he might chase after him. But we both know it wouldn’t help.
He sinks back into his chair, the weight of it all pulling him down. “You did that on purpose.”
I whip around, stunned. “You know I wouldn’t. I hate you sometimes, Aiden, but I’d never do that to our kids.”
His face crumples in slow motion. “He’s never going to forgive me. Neither will Jack. And you…” His voice shakes. “You won’t either. This is it, isn’t it? I just lost everything.”
The old me would’ve softened. Would’ve reached for his hand, told him he was being dramatic. That we could fix this. But the new me? She wants to twist the knife. She wants to watch him bleed.
Instead, I take a breath and say, “He’s your son. You’re his dad. He’ll forgive you. Jack too.” It costs me more than I expected, taking the high road.
But then he ruins it.
“You never forgave your dad. What I did is worse.”
I set my jaw. Fine. If he wants honesty, he’ll get it.
“My father stood by for sixteen years while my mother humiliated me in front of their friends, party after party. He never asked about my life. Never showed up. He didn’t even meet the father of my children until he absolutely had to.
And the only reason he bothers now is because the children he actually liked never had kids of their own. ”
I step closer, my voice steady, but colder than it’s ever been. “I never forgave him because he still doesn’t realize he did anything wrong. If you can’t see the difference between that and what you did, then maybe marriage counselling is a waste of both our times.”
I gather the dishes, drop them in the sink without care, and leave him there, steeping in his own regret.
Thirty minutes later, we’re all in the car on the way to the hospital. Judging by the sour looks on both the boys’ faces, Alex told Jack everything. The silence in the car is thick, tense, and hard to breathe through. I keep my eyes on the road. Aiden’s driving like we’re on autopilot.
When I see a drive-thru up ahead, I tell him to pull in. “Mom’ll need food. And coffee.”
We order and are told to wait. While we’re parked, I turn in my seat to face the back. Both boys have earbuds in. I gesture sharply. They yank them out, not happily.
“Listen,” I begin, steady but firm, “I know what you heard this morning wasn’t easy.”
Alex scoffs, crossing his arms. Jack’s jaw is locked tight.
I raise my voice. “But it is not your business. Your father and I are going through something. That is between him and me. It does not affect you.”
Jack doesn’t blink. “Why don’t you just divorce him?”
“Jack.” Aiden’s voice breaks on his name.
Jack doesn’t flinch. “You always say actions have consequences. I’m guessing you broke a pretty big rule.”
“I did,” Aiden says softly, but I cut in before this spirals.
“Yes. Your dad broke a rule. But it was mine. I decide the consequence. Not you. Not your brother.” I glance between them, making sure they both hear me. “Your father is a good dad. And you will treat him with the same respect you give me. That is how you were raised. Am I clear?”
They both mutter some variation of yeah or yes.
“Good,” I say. “Now let’s not mention this to anyone. Especially Grandma. The last thing she needs is more stress.”
No one speaks as we drive forward again, the weight of everything pressing down on all of us.
But at least, for now, we’re still moving.