The Day I Stopped Waiting

I spent years finding creative ways to coax him into eating healthy food, but all he saw was the restriction.

He had only met Sienna a handful of times, yet he couldn't stop singing her praises.

Caleb flicked on the overhead light, giving Mason a look of open approval. "Listen to your son. Is this how a mother is supposed to act?"

"Don't you think you're overreacting about Sienna? I told you, nothing is going on. Can't you give me the benefit of the doubt for once?"

"I'm the one who provides for this family, Juliet. Your little catering gig is pocket money. You live in my house, off my money. You need to learn your place. You're the one who can't live without us, not the other way around."

I'd heard enough. I stood and walked toward my room. "You're both right."

Caleb took a sharp breath, his voice turning hoarse with frustration. "Juliet, why do you always give me the silent treatment when we fight? Don't you care about my feelings at all?"

The alcohol hit me all at once, and the room began to spin. I stumbled, my shin cracking hard against the coffee table as I fell backward.

Caleb lunged, his hand catching the back of my head just before it could hit the floor.

"Juliet! Are you okay? You could have cracked your head open!"

I pushed against his chest and slowly sat up, my gaze vacant. "Don't touch me."

He looked stunned, as if he couldn't comprehend my revulsion. Finally, his hands fell away.

I went back to our room and fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep. When I woke up, it was five in the morning.

Despite the hangover, my internal clock woke me on time, as it always did.

Caleb liked freshly baked French toast. Mason would only eat pancakes drenched in syrup.

They were both impossibly picky. The nanny's cooking "tasted weird," and takeout was "unhygienic."

So, for five years, I had woken up two hours early every single day, so that by 7 a.m., they could have a hot breakfast that met their exacting demands.

But today, I rolled over and willed myself back to sleep.