Chapter 7 #2
While I turned to lean against the counter, he stood, pushing in his chair.
“Sit. Rest. You’ve been on your feet all day.
” His gaze swept across the vegetables and his eyebrows lifted.
“Dinner’s prepped. There’s nothing you need to do right now.
Do something just for yourself.” His voice came out firm but gentle. “Read. Rest. Savor this quiet time.”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“Then learn.” He moved toward the door, pausing in the doorway. “You deserve time to simply exist, Sammy. Not just serve.”
His words lodged underneath my ribs.
Then he was gone, the front door closing behind him. Through the window, I watched him spread his wings and launch into the air, his dark form disappearing toward town.
I stood in the kitchen, knife still in my hand, surrounded by more chopped vegetables than we could eat in a week.
You deserve time to simply exist.
The silence pressed against my ears.
I set down the knife. Wiped my hands on a towel. Looked around the kitchen like I’d never been there before.
What did I do now?
My feet carried me to the living room before I decided to move. I sat on the couch, the cushions soft beneath me.
It felt wrong. I should be doing something. Cleaning, organizing, planning.
But Gavrel had told me to rest.
I looked around the room. Dazy’s decorating touches were everywhere. Books I hadn’t read. Plants I didn’t water. A life that wasn’t mine, that I was only borrowing.
Who was I?
I tried to think of hobbies. Things I liked to do.
Photography. But only of Corey. Every picture on my phone was of him or a place we’d visited together.
Reading. Romance novels when I was too exhausted to sleep, escapism that required no emotional investment.
Puzzles. Just to decompress after Corey went to bed, my hands needing something to do while my brain shut down.
What did I like? What did I want?
The panic started small, a flutter in my chest. Then it grew, spreading outward until my fingers tingled.
I didn’t know. I had absolutely no idea.
My entire identity was Corey’s mom. Sammy the chef. Sammy who worked hard, who solved problems, who kept her small family fed and housed and safe.
But who was I without that?
I stood. Sat. Stood again.
Corey had Gavrel now. Someone to fly him to school, answer his questions about things I didn’t know, and provide the male influence I couldn’t.
The gardens ran smoothly with Jim and the staff.
The café had Claire and Beth.
What was my purpose if I wasn’t frantically needed?
I wandered to the window, my reflection of a woman I barely recognized staring back at me.
If I wasn’t essential, would they keep me?
The thought bit down on my spine.
Dazy had hired me because I did a good job. But she was kind. She’d given us a place to stay because she was generous. But what happened when she realized I wasn’t special? That anyone could do what I did?
What happened when Gavrel got tired of my baggage and my son and went back to France?
I pressed my forehead against the glass, my breath fogging the window.
Turning, I returned to the sofa and sat. I picked up a magazine from the coffee table, one of Dazy’s gardening ones. Opened it on my lap. Stared at the pages without really seeing them.
The words blurred together.
I set it aside and stood again. Paced to the window. Back to the couch. The stillness felt like drowning.
I’d spent nine years in constant motion. Working, caring, solving, surviving. The quiet felt wrong, like I’d forgotten how to exist without crisis.
Or maybe I’d never known how in the first place.
The sound of wings landing outside jolted me from my spiral.
Corey’s voice carried through the walls before the door even opened.
“And then Jake said his dad could totally beat a gargoyle in arm wrestling, and I said that was dumb because gargoyles are obviously super strong, and he said his dad is really strong too, and I said maybe you two should have a contest.”
Gavrel’s deeper voice responded, amused. “That would certainly be entertaining.”
“Right? And then guess what we’re doing in science tomorrow?”
Their laughter twined together.
I stood frozen in the living room, watching them walk up the path.
Gavrel held Corey’s hand, a small, tiny, pale hand in silver-gray fingers.
When had that started?
Gavrel carried Corey’s backpack, his wings folded against his back. He said something I couldn’t hear, and Corey giggled, the sound bright and perfect.
They looked like a family.
And I felt like the outsider looking in.
My chest pinched tight.
I wanted Corey to be happy. He needed a positive male influence who listened and cared and showed up.
So why did it hurt?
Because watching them together made me feel like I was being replaced.
They didn’t need me. They had their own bond forming, their own jokes and shared moments.
I was happy for Corey. Devastated for myself.
Both feelings existed simultaneously, battling in my chest until I couldn’t tell which was winning.
The door started to open.
I pasted on a smile, the one I’d perfected over years of pretending everything was fine.
This is what I wanted.
The door swung all the way open.
“Mom.” Corey burst into the room, his sneakers squeaking on the wood floor. “You won’t believe what happened today.”
“Tell me,” I called out, flinching when my voice cracked.
He rushed into the room and gave me a quick hug.
I kept my smile in place, while something inside me split wide open.