Mom Pov Sandra Direct

I looked at her. My beautiful, glue-stained daughter. "Not today, honey," I said, my voice flat. "Call Dad. Tell him to come back. I can't."

From my point of view, I could see the hallway. Liam shuffled past, shoving the unsigned permission slip into his backpack. Chloe followed, carrying her volcano like a fragile bomb. Mark rushed out, keys jingling, shouting, "Love you, be home late!" mom pov sandra

"But I didn't handle it," I sobbed. "I quit." I looked at her

I hated that woman in the photo. She was a liar. "Call Dad

We ate pizza on the couch. We left the mess in the kitchen. The dog threw up again (different spot). And for the first time in a long time, I laughed.

I spent the afternoon doing nothing. Absolutely nothing. I took a nap. I ate a bowl of cereal for lunch. I watched a terrible reality TV show. I let the dog throw up stay on the rug for four hours just to prove I could.