The Woman Who Waited
Chapter One — The Woman Who Waited
I don’t think she ever noticed how often she sat at the dinner table alone.
But I did.
I saw the way she set the table for two anyway. The way she smoothed the napkins like someone might finally notice the effort. The way she lit a candle out of habit, even if the room stayed quiet.
My mother—Ivory Kurtains.
She married a preacher.
His name is Simon.
He’s not a bad man.
He speaks gently. Smiles kindly. Keeps his promises.
He loves what he does. He believes in it. In people. In purpose.
But sometimes I wonder if he forgot she was part of that purpose, too.
He leaves early, before the sun’s up, with a Bible tucked under his arm and coffee in a flask. He comes back late, shoulders heavy, eyes full of church things that don’t include her.
And her?
She never complains.
She just moves slower.
Waits longer.
Smiles with the corners of her mouth instead of her eyes.
I used to sit on the stairs after my homework, just watching. Listening.
Sometimes I’d hear the front door open and her footsteps rushing—
and then stop, when she realized it was just me.
And she’d smile like that was enough.
Sometimes I saw him asleep on the couch, sermons still playing on TV, untouched dinner cooling in the kitchen.
And she’d quietly take the remote from his hand, turn out the lights, and whisper goodnight like a secret prayer.
She loved him.
She still does.
I never doubted that.
But sometimes love gets quieter with time.
It turns into routines. Into unanswered questions. Into folding his sweaters before he even asks.
And she never said a word.
Not one.
So I watched.
And I waited.
— End of Chapter One
