I kissed my fingers before touching a picture of Juliana that hung beside the bedroom door. My fingertips lingered there for a second longer than usual. "Good morning, my girl," I whispered. Grief didn't knock me down the way it used to. It didn't grab me by the throat and choke the air out of me. It just settled. Sat with me. Sometimes in my chest. Sometimes in my throat. I carried it like I carried everything else. Quietly.
Jezel and Juelz were at the table eating cereal when I walked into the kitchen. The spoons clinked against the bowls, cartoon voices playing faint on the TV in the living room. "Good morning," I said, greeting them.
"Morning, Ma," Jezel answered, milk on her lip. Juelz nodded, already halfway done. I found myself watching them eat and interact. The way Jezel corrected her brother when he reached across her bowl. The way Juelz smacked his lips just to get on her nerves. Little things. Ordinary things.
It was Saturday. It wasn't too hot or too cold outside. The kind of Louisiana morning where the air feels soft against your skin. It felt like a good day to do something with them. Take them out. Let them laugh loud somewhere public. Let them be kids. "Y’all wanna do something fun today?" I questioned looking at them as smiles grew on their faces and they nodded their heads quick.
"Like what?" Jezel asked.
"Surprise," I said. That word used to feel heavy to me. Like I had to overcompensate, or I had to create magic todistract from what wasn't being said in this house. Now it just felt light. "Okay, go get dressed. Tell your sister if she going with us, she got 10 minutes, or else we leaving her," I said. They ran off upstairs, their footsteps heavy on the stairs. I grabbed their bowls off the table and rinsed them in the sink. Water running steady. Sponge moving slow. I wiped down the counter out of habit, but I wasn't scrubbing nothing invisible anymore. Just cleaning.
By the time I finished straightening up the kitchen, they were waiting on me at the door with shoes half-tied and hair barely brushed. "Where is Julise?" I asked.
"She got an attitude and said she ain't coming," Juelz said.
Jezel rolled her eyes. "She been in her room all morning."
I paused for half a second. There was a time I would've marched upstairs. Demanded she come. Forced the picture of unity. Now? I shrugged, reaching for my keys. "If she don't want to go, I ain't forcing her." They looked surprised by that. So was I.
I led them out the door to the car. If she didn't want to go, she could stay right at home with her attitude. Sometimes space was better than dragging somebody along. As I pulled out of the driveway, I glanced at the house in the rearview mirror. Curtains drawn. Julise's window cracked open.
I headed toward the interstate, merging into traffic smooth. I turned the radio low and let the kids argue over what they wanted to listen to. I headed in the direction of the aquarium. The last time we all went was as a family. Jules holding the door open.Juliana is running ahead of us, tooexcited to wait. Julise was glued to her phone but still smiling when she thought nobody was looking.Even though that looked different now, I didn't find myself getting caught up in my feelings about it. I didn't feel the need to recreate that memory. It happened. It was beautiful. And now it was past. The car filled with laughter when Juelz made a face at Jezel. I glanced at them in the rearview mirror and smiled.
The aquarium parking lot wasn't packed yet when we pulled in. The air smelled faintly like salt and fried food from somewhere down the street. I reached back and squeezed Jezel's knee before getting out. "Stay close," I said automatically.
Inside, the cool air wrapped around us. Dim lights. Blue glow from the tanks reflecting off the walls. Water moving slow behind thick glass. Jezel pressed her face to the first tank. "Look at that one!" Juelz ran ahead to the stingray exhibit. I followed slower watching them. Watching the way their faces lit up. Watching the way they forgot about everything outside that building. I stood in front of a large tank where a sea turtle moved through the water, steady and calm. It didn't rush. Didn't react to the kids tapping the glass. Just swam. I folded my arms loosely across my chest. A year ago I would've looked to my side, expecting Jules to be standing there. I didn't look this time. I knew he wasn't there. At one point in time I would've felt that absence like a bruise. Today it felt like space and I was learning to breathe in it.
Jezel tugged at my hand. "Ma come see!" I let her pull me. We walked through tunnel exhibits where fish swam overhead. Light shifting blue and green across the floor. The kids' voices echoing slightly in the space. At one point, Juelz slipped his hand into mine without thinking.
We stopped for snacks at noon. We sat at a small table with paper baskets of fries and chicken tenders. "Ma you happy?" Jezel asked suddenly, dipping a fry into ketchup.
The question caught me off guard, but I didn't let it show. "Why you ask that?" I said.
"You just look different," she shrugged. Juelz nodded. "Yeah you don't be yelling like you used to."
I let out a small laugh. "I ain't that bad." They both gave me looks that said otherwise. I leaned back in my chair. "I'm okay," I said honestly. And I was, because I'd stopped waiting for things to rearrange themselves before allowing myself to breathe. After we finished eating, we walked back through the exhibits one more time. I took pictures of them. They posed silly. Jezel made peace signs. Juelz crossed his arms like he was tough. I looked at the screen of my phone. For a second, I considered sending one to Jules, but I decided not to, not out of spite, just because I didn't feel the need to. I didn't need his acknowledgment to validate the moment.
On the drive home, the kids dozed off in the backseat. Their heads tilted toward each other. The car quiet again. I drove with both hands on the steering wheel, eyes steady on the road. The house came into view as I turned onto our street. I didn't feel like I was walking back into something heavy. I felt like I was bringing something with me. Myself. That might sound simple. But for a long time, I wasn't in my own house fully. I was performing.
Holding.
Absorbing.
Now I was just here. I parked and turned the engine off and sat there for a second before waking the kids. As I reached for the door handle, a thought came to me quiet and clear: I'm not waiting anymore.
Not for apologies.
Not for romance.
Not for confrontation.
I'm living, and if something changes, it'll be because I chose to move. Not because I stood still long enough to be left behind. That realization didn't resolve anything. It didn't fix my marriage. It didn't erase grief. It didn't answer whether Jules and I were drifting or just evolving. But it did something else. It let me know I wasn't disappearing inside my own life anymore.
"If nothing changed, could you live like this for five more years?" My therapist's voice came through the room smooth. Calm. Almost too calm for a question like that. I didn't answer her. Hell, I couldn't. The question didn't feel loud. It didn't feel accusatory. It just sat there between us like a glass of water I didn't know if I was ready to drink.
Five more years. I thought about that number. Five summers. Five Christmases. Five more cycles of birthdays and Sunday dinners and silent car rides. Five more years of waking up beside a man I loved but didn't quite reach anymore.
To think about who I was becoming compared to who I was, it was a difficult question for me. I used to know exactly who I was. Jules' wife. The mother holding the house together while he moved how he moved. The one who absorbed it all. Now? I was starting to feel like something else was forming underneath that identity. Not rebellion. Not resentment. Just awareness.