Margaret

Reality

Margaret lay still for a moment after turning off the alarm, staring up at the ceiling while the quiet hum of the house wrapped around her. What she wouldn’t give to stay home today. Just one day to be at home, to wake up slowly with the kids, to make pancakes instead of rushing home to take them to school.

But mornings like that were rare.

Carefully, she began to move, slowly lifting one child’s arm and then the other as she eased herself off the couch. The sectional had turned into an accidental family bed sometime during the movie. She held her breath, trying not to wake anyone as she slipped free.

Once she was standing, she paused.

The sight of them sleeping peacefully made her smile.

All four of them were sprawled across the couch in a tangled mess of blankets and limbs. Jersey had curled up against the back cushion, her long hair half covering her face. Frank III had somehow claimed two entire cushions to himself, one leg hanging off the side. Sam was tucked into the corner with a blanket pulled tightly around him, with only his nose visible. Frank had one arm stretched across the back of the couch as if he had tried to keep everyone from falling off during the night.

The evening had been a good one.

After dinner, they had decided to watch a movie together, piling onto the sectional with popcorn and blankets like they always did when no one had anything planned the next morning.

Apparently, none of them had made it to the end.

Frank stirred slightly and opened one eye halfway. “Is it time for you to leave already?” he mumbled groggily. “There’s still about an hour of the movie left.”

Margaret chuckled softly and pointed toward the television.

“The movie has been over for quite a while,” she whispered. “We all fell asleep. It’s seven, and I need to hurry and be out of here by seven forty-five. I’m not going to my normal group home tonight.”

Frank squinted toward the TV like he was trying to confirm what she was saying, then groaned quietly and let his head sink back into the cushion.

Margaret leaned down and kissed the top of his head before slipping quietly toward the kitchen.

The house felt different when everyone else was asleep, peaceful in a way it rarely was during the day. The kitchen light flickered on softly, and she moved through the familiar motions of the morning routine.

Coffee first.

Always coffee.

While the coffee maker began its slow gurgling, she opened the refrigerator and started pulling things out for tomorrow’s school lunches. It had become a habit of hers to pack them the night before when she worked late shifts. Mornings were chaotic enough without trying to throw lunches together while three kids searched for shoes and backpacks.

She lined up three lunch boxes on the counter.

Jersey’s was purple, covered in little stickers she had added over the years. Frank III’s was a faded blue with a superhero logo that had long since cracked. Sam’s was plain black, simple, just the way he liked it.

Margaret moved down the line like she always did.

Sandwiches first.

Jersey liked turkey and cheese with lettuce. Frank III wanted peanut butter and jelly, cut diagonally, or he insisted it “tasted weird.” Sam preferred things separate, cheese slices in one container, crackers in another, everything neat and organized the way he needed it.

She packed fruit cups, a few snacks, and slipped in small notes like she sometimes did, even though the kids pretended to be embarrassed by them.

The smell of coffee filled the kitchen as she packed her own lunch next. Leftover pasta from dinner went into a container along with a small salad and a bottle of water.

As she closed the lunch boxes and slid them neatly into the refrigerator, Margaret paused for a moment, leaning against the counter.

From the living room, she could hear the soft rhythm of her family sleeping.

Frank’s quiet snore.

The occasional rustle of blankets.

The small, comforting sounds of a house full of people she loved more than anything.

Margaret took a slow sip of her coffee, letting the warmth settle into her chest before glancing at the clock.

Seven fifteen.

Time was already moving too fast.

She set the mug down, grabbed her bag, and started getting ready for work, unaware that this ordinary evening, one filled with sleepy smiles, packed lunches, and quiet moments, would soon become the last normal one she would ever have.

Margaret slipped quietly down the hallway to the bedroom, closing the door just enough so the light wouldn’t spill out into the living room. The room was dim, the soft gray of early evening pressing against the windows.

She set her bag on the bed and began changing into her scrubs.

The fabric was familiar, worn soft from too many washes. Tonight’s pair was a deep navy blue, the top a little faded along the seams. She pulled it over her head, smoothing it down before tugging the drawstring on the pants.

Working at the group homes meant long nights, unexpected situations, and a lot of patience. Scrubs were practical, comfortable, easy to move in, and easy to clean when things got messy.

Margaret pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail and glanced at herself in the mirror for a moment. Tired eyes looked back at her, but they softened as she thought about the sleeping pile of family out in the living room.

She turned back to the bed and opened her work bag.

Inside was the usual collection of things she carried every shift, a small notebook, pens, her badge, a charger, and her laptop. She pulled the laptop out and tapped the power button.

The screen glowed to life.

Good. Fully charged.

She slid it carefully back into its sleeve and zipped the bag closed, doing one last quick check out of habit. If she forgot something, there wasn’t always time to run back home later.

Satisfied, Margaret slung the strap over her shoulder and slipped her shoes on before heading back through the quiet house.

The living room looked almost the same as before.

Jersey was still curled up against the back of the couch. Sam hadn’t moved at all, still wrapped in his blanket like a cocoon. Frank had rolled slightly onto his side, one arm now draped over the cushion where Margaret had been earlier.

Margaret smiled softly.

She leaned over and brushed a gentle kiss against Sam’s temple, then tucked the blanket a little tighter around Jersey’s shoulders.

“See you later,” she whispered, even though none of them heard her.

She grabbed her keys from the kitchen counter and stepped outside.

The evening air was cool, the sky still holding onto the pale orange of dusk. Margaret walked down the driveway toward her car, the quiet crunch of gravel under her shoes the only sound.

She opened the driver’s door and tossed her bag onto the passenger seat.

Then she paused.

Something felt…off.

Margaret slowly leaned down and glanced into the back seat.

Two bright eyes stared back at her.

Frank III burst into giggles.

Margaret jumped slightly, putting a hand to her chest. “Well, that’s just great,” she said dramatically. “I’m being stalked in my own car now.”

Frank III tried, and failed, to stay quiet as he squirmed in the back seat.

“I thought you wouldn’t see me!” he laughed.

“Oh, I didn’t see you,” Margaret teased as she climbed into the driver’s seat and buckled her seatbelt. “I just always keep my car full of mysterious giggling noises.”

Frank III popped up from the back and climbed into the passenger seat, still smiling.

“You can’t go to work,” he said immediately, his voice serious now.

Margaret glanced over at him, one eyebrow raised.

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because I missed you,” he said simply.

The words landed softly in the quiet car.

Margaret’s expression warmed as she reached over and ruffled his hair.

“You saw me all evening, goofball.”

“Yeah, but we fell asleep during the movie,” he argued. “That doesn’t count.”

Margaret chuckled.

“Well, unfortunately, my boss thinks it counts if I show up to work.”

Frank III folded his arms dramatically.

“You could call in sick.”

“Could I now?”

“Yep.”

“And what would I tell them?”

Frank III thought for a moment, then grinned.

“You have… uh… couch sickness.”

Margaret laughed, shaking her head.

“I don’t think that’s a real thing.”

He looked down at his hands for a moment before glancing back at her.

“I just wanted you to stay.”

Margaret’s smile softened again.

She reached over and squeezed his shoulder gently.

“I’ll be back before you know it, okay? You’ve got school tomorrow, and I packed your lunch already.”

His eyes lit up a little. “Did you cut the sandwich the right way?”

“Diagonal,” she said. “Like always.”

Frank III nodded, satisfied, but the little smile didn’t quite hide the disappointment on his face.

After a moment, he sighed and opened the car door.

“Okay…”

He hopped out and slowly walked back toward the house.

Margaret watched him through the windshield as he reached the porch. He turned around before going inside and lifted his hand in a small wave.

She waved back.

Frank III tried to smile, but the sad look lingered in his eyes as he stepped through the front door.

Margaret took a slow breath, shifted the car into reverse, and pulled out of the driveway.

The house grew smaller in the rearview mirror as she drove away.