Marina watched her son trying on a new suit. Tall, well-built, dark-haired—tomorrow her boy was getting married, and it was hard to believe. Ilya carefully studied his reflection in the mirror. He turned around, nodded in satisfaction, noting that the suit fit perfectly. “Fashionable outfit,” the young man turned to his mother. “And the color is good, it looks expensive.”

“It is expensive,” thought Marina, but aloud she said: “I’m glad you like it. I’ll definitely shed a tear at the wedding as soon as I see you in full dress.”

Ilya finally turned away from the mirror: “Mom, are you going to the wedding or what? We agreed that you wouldn’t be there.”

“We agreed, son? I thought you were joking.”

“What jokes?” The son nervously paced the room. “Did you forget what Vika’s parents are like? The wedding will be full of elites. You’ll feel like a poor relative there. I’ll start worrying about you. Mom, do you want to ruin such an important day for me?”

The son sat down next to Marina on the couch, took her hand, and gently squeezed it: “Mommy, just imagine how out of place you’ll look among those dolled-up ladies. My heart would break from such humiliation. And think about how you’ll feel. We’ll come the day after, okay? Have some tea or champagne. You can congratulate us, give us your gift.”

Marina’s heart clenched with hurt. Her own son was ashamed of her to such an extent that he was prepared to appear at his own wedding like an orphan without kin. “Why would I look out of place?” the mother retorted. “I have an appointment with a good hairdresser, I’ll get my nails done. I’ll wear a decent dress.”

“What decent dress? That blue old thing!” Ilya snapped and paced the room again.

“So that’s it.” He stood in front of his mother. “If you don’t understand the nice way, I’ll tell you straight. I don’t want to see you at the wedding. I may be… but I’m ashamed that my mother is a cleaner. I don’t want you to embarrass me in front of Vika’s relatives. Is that clear?”

Marina was shocked by her son’s confession and could not utter a word. Ilya silently took his backpack, proudly flaunted his suit, and headed for the exit. At the threshold, he stopped: “I’ll say it again, don’t come to the ceremony. No one there will be glad to see you.”

Ilya had left a few hours ago. Twilight had set in, and Marina just sat on the couch in complete stupor. She was so shocked that she couldn’t even cry. Tears came a bit later when the woman turned on the light and pulled an old album with family photos from the dresser. This album contained her entire unembellished life. Memories crashed down on Marina with such force that it was hard to breathe. An old worn photo. There she was, a two-year-old girl with blue eyes, gazing intently into the lens. Her colorful dress clearly second-hand. Beside her, a thin, strange woman with a vacant look and a foolish smile. Even in the poor photo, it was evident that the woman was in high spirits.
Marina was two and a half when her mother lost parental rights and disappeared from her daughter’s life forever. As she grew older, the girl never tried to find her wayward mother. Why bother?

A group photo. Ten-year-old Marina with rebellious golden curls stands in the second row, third from the left. Life in the orphanage was no picnic.

The institution where Marina was raised resembled the troubled shelters from documentary films about the nineties. Cooks were caught stealing food, educators didn’t mince words, and the director turned a blind eye to bullying, uninterested in the methods older children used to maintain discipline.

Three attractive girls in waitress uniforms flirtatiously posed for a photographer on the porch of a building with a crooked sign. After school, Marina didn’t think too much about choosing a profession and quickly got a job as a waitress at a roadside café called “By the Road.” The salary was small, but the tips generously left by customers compensated for this.

Twelve-hour shifts were exhausting, but Marina did not despair. She liked her independent life. Her room in a shared apartment was spacious and bright, and the neighbors, an elderly couple, turned out to be friendly. She had enough money, although not much, and unexpectedly discovered a talent in herself. It turned out that she knew how to dress stylishly on a dime. By buying clothes from second-hands, she remade and altered them into fashionable items. In a summer meadow in the forest, a happy and laughing Marina sat on the grass with a crown of flowers, embraced by a handsome dark-haired guy wearing a similar crown. Many years have passed, but Marina’s heart still skips a beat at the sight of this photo.

She had been working at the café for about a year when she met Maxim. That summer morning, the café was unexpectedly crowded. Marina rushed around the room with a tray, serving impatient customers, and suddenly tripped, spilling tomato juice on a guy by the window. A bright red stain spread across his light shirt. Marina was lost for words, realizing that the shirt was expensive. Before she could recover, Stas, the café administrator, rushed to the table and began fussing, threatening her with dismissal.

“Why worry so much?” the guy smiled, handing Marina the keys to his car. “Don’t worry, I’m going to my parents’ country house. There’s a clean shirt in the car. Could you bring the backpack from the back seat?”

“I’ll bring it, Maxim Nikolaevich,” Stas offered helpfully, snatching the keys. “Otherwise, this chicken might break something in your car too.”

Left alone with the client, Marina finally managed to apologize: “Please forgive me, this is the first time this has happened. I swear, I will compensate you for the damage.”

Maxim replied. “It’s nothing serious.”

Maxim extended his hand. She responded with a handshake and then dared to look at him for the first time.

Stas brought him the backpack and escorted him in order to a back room to change. When he passed by Marina, Stas remarked sarcastically:

“What are you waiting for? Has your shift ended?”

While she was just taking payment from a loving couple, she heard a cheerful voice behind her: “Marina, could you spare me a minute of your attention?”

Maxim, in a fresh blue shirt, was sitting at the same table. “Will you take my order?”

“Of course.”

Serving the attractive visitor, the girl felt awkward. Stas personally escorted the guy to the door, then winked at Marina, “Don’t be upset, I purposely snapped at you, otherwise he might have made you pay for the shirt. It costs more than your salary.”

“How do you know this guy?”

“That’s Max Skvortsov, the mayor’s son. Everyone in town knows him.”

By that evening, Marina was so exhausted from the day’s hustle that she had forgotten about the morning incident. She only desired to get home and collapse into bed.

It was already dark outside. Suddenly, a light foreign car pulled up to the café. On closer inspection, Marina recognized the car. What was the mayor’s son doing here?

Maxim jumped out of the car and headed straight for Marina. He approached and handed her the flowers: “Have you finished work? Sorry, I didn’t know what kind you like, so I chose white roses. But I promise that from now on, I’ll only give you your favorites.”

Marina was completely bewildered.

“I’m actually courting you. Besides, the evening is so lovely, maybe we could go somewhere?”, Max said, laughing.

Everything that was happening seemed like a magical dream. Marina realized that she was ready to go anywhere with him. Yet she quickly came back to reality. She remembered she was dressed in old jeans and a simple t-shirt.

“Thank you, but I’m tired, I can’t today”, Marina said regretfully.

“Then tomorrow?” Max was persistent.

The next day they met, never to part again. It was love at first sight. Maxim was an economics student. He had successfully passed his summer exams, and they started seeing each other every day.

Max introduced Marina to his university friends. Together, they often went swimming and barbecued in the wilderness. It was the brightest, most carefree, and unforgettable time of Marina’s life. She never experienced such happiness again.

Marina and Maxim had already started planning their wedding, but all their dreams about the future collapsed. Maxim’s cousin saw him on the street with some ragamuffin and reported it to daddy-the-mayor. Marina’s life turned into a nightmare.

The Skvortsov family disapproved of their relationship. It was understandable. The only son and a girl from an orphanage. Maxim’s mother called hundreds of times a day, demanding that Marina leave him. Maxim’s cousin came to the cafe and caused a terrible scandal.

Then, neighbors also reported that some people had been asking about Marina for an hour.

“Recently one lady”, confirmed Yakov Ivanovich, a neighbor in the apartment, “offered us good money if we confirmed that you were a drug addict and a prostitute. I threw her out.”

Marina told nothing to her fiancé. She knew that his opportunity for an overseas student exchange was being decided at that moment. Apparently, he was also under pressure, because a worry settled in his eyes. Sometimes he would look tensely at his beloved’s face, but, seeing her gentle smile, he would sigh with relief.

Two weeks before Maxim’s departure, Marina received a phone call.

“This is Nikolai Borisovich, Maxim’s father. You must break up with my son before he leaves. Tell him you have another man. If you ignore my words, you will bitterly regret it.”

The mayor hung up. Marina was ready to give her life for Maxim, how could she possibly give up the man she loved so deeply?

When her beloved flew to London, events began to unfold around Marina that she still remembers as a bad dream. Stas, bribed by the city’s mayor, suddenly accused the waitress of a major shortage, and the girl was arrested.

Marina was in sh0ck by her boss’s vile act. As the case quickly went to court, she had no doubt that the truth would soon come out and these horrible charges would be dismissed.

The trial was like a farce. The lawyer provided by the state barely stayed awake during the proceedings. In contrast, the prosecutor tried his hardest. Every day, Marina hoped that Maxim would appear and save her, but a friend informed her that, according to rumors, the boy was planning to continue his studies in England.

Marina was sentenced to three years. It was only in prison that she learned she was expecting a child.

Marina tried not to think about the time she spent in women’s prison—it was too painful. Overwhelmed by emotions, she quickly turned the page of the family album. The photo showed her dark-haired, gray-eyed little boy. Marina tenderly ran her finger over the image. Her son was so affectionate and clever. Only God knows what it cost her to raise him alone.

After serving a year and a half, Marina was released. Her child had not been taken away. Outside, a myriad of problems awaited her. No one wanted to hire a young woman with a small child, especially one with a criminal record.

Her neighbor Yakov Ivanovich helped get little Ilyushka into daycare, Marina was able to work tirelessly. She worked as a cleaner in a restaurant, cleaned offices in the evenings, worked at a car wash on weekends, and sewed pillowcases and duvet covers at night.

She didn’t look back at the past—why suffer unnecessarily? Once she accidentally met a former friend who told her that the roadside café owner, Stas, had gone bankrupt, Mayor Skvortsov had moved to Moscow with his family after receiving a promotion, and his son had married a beauty from the capital a year ago.

Marina wiped away her tears and went to clean floors at the restaurant. She needed to raise her son.

She always tried to please him with tasty food, expensive toys, fashionable clothes. She was ready to do anything to fulfill all his wishes, as much as possible. If Ilya needed a new gadget, he calmly talked to his mother about it, knowing she would find the necessary amount, or at worst, take on extra work.

Certainly, in that Ilya had grown into such an insensitive egoist, she was to blame too. She never complained to him about being tired, never took sick leave, always gave him the tastiest pieces at dinner. No wonder her son never once considered the price his mother paid for the money. And now he was ashamed of her and didn’t want her, a cleaner, to attend his wedding.

«I understand,» Marina sighed bitterly, then turned to Ilya’s portrait on the wall. «Son, I’ve indulged you for 25 years, but this time I’ll do as I see fit. Forgive me.»

She got out of bed and pulled out a box from the nightstand, where she traditionally kept her savings. Plus, her monthly salary was on the card—enough for an outfit, hairstyle, and a visit to the beautician.

Marina’s appearance at the registry office caused a real stir.

She always looked younger than her years, but after visiting the beauty salon, she seemed to have shed a decade. The guests, especially the men, sneakily glanced at the blonde woman in an exquisite blue dress. During the ceremony, the mother, wiping away tears, admired her serious, slightly bewildered son and his charming bride. It was good that she had come here. After the ceremony, all the guests congratulated the newlyweds. Ilya stealthily made his way through the crowd to his mother and whispered:

«So my request means nothing to you? I hope you’re not going to the restaurant?»

«I won’t,» Marina nodded. «I’ve already seen everything I wanted.»

«Hello!» a flushed Vika rushed up to them. «Marina Anatolyevna, you look stunning! The parents invite you to go to the restaurant with them.»

«Thank you, but it’s time for me to leave.»

«What do you mean, time?» Vika was indignant. «Ilya, what’s happening?»

«Really, Mom, where are you rushing to? It’s your only son’s wedding,» Ilya invited his mother to the restaurant with a forced smile.

When it was time for parents to congratulate the young couple, Marina took the microphone:

«Children, be happy, love each other for a lifetime…»

As she descended from the small stage, the woman nearly bumped into a tall man in an expensive suit.

«It can’t be,» said Maxim, blocking her path. «Marishka, is it really you? What are you doing here?»

«Maxim?» Marina couldn’t believe her eyes.

«The bride’s father is my business partner, he invited me to the wedding. What a handsome son you have.» Maxim, nervously, took Marina’s hand. «Maybe we could step aside, talk by the window? Are you here alone, without a husband? I’ve been divorced for 10 years now, and I don’t have any children.»

They talked for an hour. Maxim told how his father, having flown to him abroad, informed him that Marina had met another guy and moved to Moscow with him. Shocked, Max didn’t believe his father but, fearing to humiliate his beloved with suspicions, decided to first find out the truth from his best friend. The friend went to the roadside café but didn’t find the girl there. The owner and waitresses unanimously confirmed the information received from the father.

«I nearly went mad with grief then, stayed in England for another six months, then returned to Moscow. My dad got promoted, then I got married. Was I happy all these years? Not a minute. Only in my youth with you. But how have you been living all this time?»

«Let’s not talk about sad things,» Marina suggested. «It’s a wedding, after all. I’ll tell you everything later, but now invite me to dance.»

Guests couldn’t take their eyes off the beautiful couple. Ilya watched his mother and didn’t recognize her. He suddenly thought that his mom was a very attractive woman who had given up her personal life for him. For the first time in his life, Ilya felt truly ashamed. Then he noticed that his mother, arm-in-arm with some wealthy man, was heading towards the exit, and caught up with her on the porch.

«Mom, where are you going?»

«I’m leaving. That’s what you wanted,» the mother reminded.

«Mom, I’m sorry, but where are you going with this man?»

«I’m ready to go with him to the ends of the earth,» Marina sincerely confessed. «By the way, meet your father, Maxim.»

Ilya looked bewildered at Marina. She paused and added with a smile:

«Yes, it looks like we have a very long conversation ahead. But not today. Today is a wedding!»

My Landlord Raised My Rent Because I Got a Promotion — Big Mistake Messing With a Single Working Mom of Three

When Anna, a single mom of three, finally gets promoted, her sleazy landlord hikes the rent… just because he can. But he’s about to learn the hard way that underestimating a tired woman with nothing left to lose is the biggest mistake of all. This time, Anna’s done playing nice.

I’m not usually a petty person. I don’t have the time. Between raising three kids and juggling a full-time job, petty has never fit into my calendar. But when someone comes for my peace, my babies and the roof over our heads… just because I caught a break?

Well. I don’t go down swinging. I go down strategizing.

A tired woman | Source: Midjourney

Let me back it up for you.

I’m Anna. I’m 36 and a single mom of three. My kids are my world, Liam’s eleven and he’s the kind of boy who holds doors without being asked and notices when I’ve had a hard day without saying a word.

Maya’s seven, loud and bold and always asking the questions no one else will. And then there’s Atlas, my four-year-old. He’s a walking tornado in Lightning McQueen socks, with curls that spring back no matter how often I try to tame them.

A smiling little boy | Source: Midjourney

Our mornings start before the sun even considers rising. I’m up by five, packing lunches, tying laces, brushing tangles and reheating coffee I’ll never get to finish. I work full-time as a team lead at a logistics company, though recently, I earned the title of Operations Manager.

After eight years of staying late, skipping lunch breaks and never taking sick days, someone finally saw me. The raise wasn’t huge but it meant that maybe, just maybe, I could start saying yes when my kids asked for something simple.

New shoes without holes. A school trip without borrowing from next month’s grocery fund. Name-brand cereal.

An aisle in a supermarket | Source: Midjourney

We’d been living in a modest two-bedroom rental for five years. We moved in just before Atlas was born. Just before their father, Ed, left the scene. The kids shared a room with bunk beds that creaked every time someone rolled over. I slept on the pull-out couch, my back a roadmap of tension and long days.

But it was ours.

Safe, clean, just 15 minutes from school and work. It wasn’t much but it was home.

A pull-out couch in a living room | Source: Midjourney

Frank, our landlord, was the kind of man who liked owning things, especially people’s silence. He ignored texts, delayed repairs and once told me, “With all those kids, you should be grateful you’ve got a place at all.”

I swallowed my pride and paid the rent. Because stability is priceless… until someone tries to sell it back to you at a markup.

Frank had this charming habit of treating me like a squatter who’d somehow lucked into a lease. He didn’t see a tenant, he saw a woman one missed payment away from being disposable.

An old man wearing a navy t-shirt | Source: Midjourney

Maintenance requests were met with silence, followed by slow, begrudging replies. The broken heater in December?

I texted him three times before he finally responded with, “Layer up, Anna. You and the kids. It’s not that cold.”

When the kitchen faucet exploded like a rusted geyser, soaking my shoes and nearly electrocuting the toaster, his response was just as bad.

A running tap | Source: Midjourney

“I can swing by next Thursday if it’s really urgent.”

But it was never urgent to him. Not the ants, the mold, or the fact that my front door lock jammed every single time it rained. He made me feel like asking for basic safety was asking for too much.

The worst part though?

It was the way he looked at me when we ran into each other, like a struggling single mom was a cautionary tale, not a human being. He once smirked.

A close up of an older man | Source: Midjourney

“You should be grateful you’ve got a place at all with all those kids.”

It was like my children were baggage. Like our home was a favor.

Still, I kept paying. On time, every month. Because starting over was expensive and even when the rent crept higher, it was still less than anywhere else that felt safe.

A pensive woman standing outside | Source: Midjourney

Then came the promotion.

It wasn’t fanfare and confetti but it was mine. A quiet win, hard-earned. I updated my LinkedIn.

“After years of juggling work and motherhood, I’m proud to say I’ve been promoted to Operations Manager. Hard work pays off!”

I didn’t expect applause. But I got kind messages from coworkers, old classmates, even one mom from daycare I barely knew.

An open laptop on a table | Source: Midjourney

“You make the impossible look easy,” she’d said.

I read that one three times.

I cried in the breakroom. It was just a few tears. Quiet ones. It felt like someone finally saw me, not just the tired eyes and the late arrivals.

Me.

Two days later, I got an email from Frank.

An emotional woman in a breakroom at work | Source: Midjourney

Subject: Rental Adjustment Notice

He was raising my rent by $500. No upgrades. No justification.

“Saw your little promotion post. Congrats! Figured that now’s the perfect time to squeeze a bit more out of you.”

I stared at the screen, blinking like the words might rearrange themselves into something less vile. Surely, this wasn’t real. It had to be a mistake. Some glitch. Maybe he’d sent it to the wrong tenant.

A woman sitting with her laptop | Source: Midjourney

I called him immediately, my hand trembling as I held the phone to my ear.

“Frank, that’s a massive increase,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’ve never missed rent. We have a lease…”

“Look,” he cut me off with a chuckle. “You wanted a career and a bunch of kids, that comes with bills. You’re not broke anymore, so don’t expect charity. If someone’s making more, they can pay more. It’s simple math, Anna. This is business, honey, not a daycare.”

A man talking on a phone | Source: Midjourney

I sat there, stunned, my mouth dry. My hand dropped into my lap, still clutching the phone. I could hear the kids laughing from the living room. Their laughter was so normal, so innocent, and it made the bile rise in my throat.

I hung up without another word.

That night, after bedtime routines were done and three small bodies were tucked into sheets that didn’t match, I found myself in the laundry room, holding a pile of mismatched socks like it was going to ground me.

Socks in a laundry basket | Source: Midjourney

I stood there for a long time.

There’s a specific kind of cry you have to hold in so your kids don’t hear it. The kind that sits in your chest, burning and shaking. That’s the one I swallowed.

Liam found me there. Barefoot, silent, gentle.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Just tired,” I tried to smile.

A little boy standing in a hallway | Source: Midjourney

He nodded, settling beside me, back against the dryer.

“We’ll be okay,” he said, eyes on the floor. “You always figure it out.”

And somehow, hearing that from him broke me more than Frank ever could. And that’s when I made a decision.

I wasn’t going to beg. I wasn’t going to plead with Frank or scrape together money I didn’t have or sacrifice groceries for rent. I was done playing nice for people who saw kindness as weakness.

A woman leaning against a wall | Source: Midjourney

I was going to teach him something.

That week, I handed in my 30-day notice. No drama. Just a signed letter, slid into his mailbox like a resignation from his nonsense.

That same night, I opened my phone and posted in every local parenting and housing group I belonged to. Nothing flashy. Just the truth.

A red mailbox | Source: Midjourney

“Looking for a family-friendly rental? Avoid 116 Muscut Avenue. Landlord just raised rent by $500 because I got a promotion. Punishing working moms for succeeding? Not today, ladies and gents.”

I didn’t name him. I didn’t need to.

The post exploded overnight.

Moms started commenting with their own horror stories. One said Frank made her pay six months in advance because “women are flakey.” Another shared screenshots where he refused to fix mold because “it’s just a cosmetic issue, Jane.”

A phone on a table | Source: Midjourney

There were eye rolls. Rage reacts. One woman called him “a sleazy slumlord in a polo shirt.” Another said he once told her she should “marry rich if she wanted better maintenance.”

Then came Jodie. She was a mom I barely knew from PTA circles. She messaged me privately.

“Anna, this man tried to rent me that same unit and asked if my husband would co-sign. And do you want to know why? Just in case I got pregnant and couldn’t work.”

Jodie had receipts. And she posted them.

A woman using her phone | Source: Midjourney

Two days later, the post got picked up by a real estate watchdog page for our county. Someone even made a TikTok with dramatic piano music and transitions, zooming in on side-by-side photos of his crusty listing and my original post.

It was glorious.

And then, what do you know? Old Frank texted me.

“Hey, Anna. I’ve been thinking. Maybe the increase was too much too fast. Let’s keep the rent the same, yeah?”

A man texting on his phone | Source: Midjourney

I didn’t reply right away.

Instead, I picked up Maya from dance, still sweaty and glitter-speckled. I got Atlas from preschool, where he’d taped three pieces of construction paper together and called it a “rocket dog.”

I sat next to Liam while he worked through long division, his brows furrowed in concentration, his pencil chewed beyond saving.

A close up of a little girl | Source: Midjourney

I kissed all three of their heads like I always did, Maya’s quick, Atlas’s sticky, and Liam’s slightly embarrassed but tolerant. I made grilled cheese with the last slices of bread and pretended not to notice we were out of milk again.

I read “The Gruffalo” twice because Atlas asked.

“Do the monster voice again!” he whispered excitedly. I did it, even though my throat burned.

Grilled cheese sandwiches on a board | Source: Midjourney

Only after they were tucked in, only after I sat on the edge of my pull-out couch and stared at the chipped paint on the wall, did I finally reply.

“Thanks, Frank. But I’ve already signed a lease somewhere else. Just make sure to list the place as ‘pet-free’ though. The rats under the sink might not get along with the new tenant’s cat.”

He didn’t bother to respond. And I assumed that he had accepted my final notice.

We moved out at the end of the month. I didn’t cry when I closed the door. I didn’t look back.

A woman standing on a porch | Source: Midjourney

A friend from one of the housing groups connected me to her cousin’s landlord. That’s how we found our new place. It’s a bit smaller, sure, but it has three real bedrooms.

No more bunk beds that creak, no more sleeping on coils and springs. There’s a patch of grass in the back, uneven, a little wild.

Atlas calls it his farm. Maya braided dandelions into a crown on our first weekend there. Liam’s already claimed the room with the best light and has started drawing again.

A dandelion crown on grass | Source: Midjourney

And our new landlord, Mrs. Calder?

She brought over a welcome basket with mini muffins and a handwritten card. She remembered all their names the next week. When I teared up, she pretended not to notice.

That night, after the chaos of moving boxes and tangled chargers and someone losing their only left shoe, we lay on the living room floor, all four of us. I stared at the ceiling and let myself exhale for the first time in months.

A basket of mini-muffins | Source: Midjourney

“Is this our forever home?” Atlas curled against me and whispered.

“It’s our better home,” I said. “Maybe our forever home… let’s see, okay?”

A week later, Frank’s listing popped up online. The rent was slashed by $300. Still no takers.

Sometimes, I still get DMs.

“I saw your post, thank you. I needed a push to get out.”

“He tried the same thing with me. Not this time!”

A little boy laying on a carpet | Source: Midjourney

It turns out, in a world where rent rises faster than hope, word of mouth is currency.

And respect? That costs nothing.

So if you think single moms are easy targets, if you think we’re too tired to fight back, too busy to speak up, just know…

We carry diaper bags and receipts. And we remember everything.

A smiling woman wearing a green sweater | Source: Midjourney

A few weeks after the move, once the boxes were flattened and the air finally smelled like us instead of dust and cardboard, I invited Mrs. Calder over for dinner.

I didn’t have much but I made the kind of meal that says thank you when words don’t stretch far enough. Roast chicken with herbed potatoes and carrots and enough gravy to drown every bite in comfort.

Liam peeled the carrots while pretending he was on a cooking show. Maya sprinkled rosemary with dramatic flair. Atlas was in charge of buttering the rolls, which mostly meant licking his fingers and smearing butter on his cheek.

A roast chicken with vegetables | Source: Midjourney

When Mrs. Calder arrived, she brought a peach cobbler and a bouquet of sunflowers. She wore a cardigan with cats on it and smiled like someone who meant it.

“I haven’t had a home-cooked meal with kids running around in years,” she said as she stepped inside. “This is already my favorite dinner.”

Dinner was full of laughter and seconds and gravy on everything. Liam explained how potatoes absorb flavor better when they’re slightly smashed. Maya insisted the chicken was juicier because she had whispered compliments to it while it roasted.

A peach cobbler | Source: Midjourney

Atlas dropped his roll, cried, then cheered when it bounced off his chair and landed on the table again. At one point, I caught myself watching them instead of eating. My children. Safe. Loud. Full.

“You’ve made this house feel like a home, Anna,” Mrs. Calder said. “Not many people can do that in just a few weeks.”

I didn’t trust myself to speak. So I just smiled. And for the first time in a long time, it felt like we weren’t just surviving.

We were rooting.

A smiling older woman in a cat cardigan | Source: Midjourney