He had met someone online. She lived overseas. Within a year, he was gone—living in another country with a woman he barely knew.
And just like that, I was alone with six children.
And a mortgage.
Those years were the hardest of my life.
I worked mornings at a grocery store and cleaned office buildings at night. Sometimes I would get home after midnight, only to wake up again at 5 a.m. to pack lunches and get the kids ready for school.
Money was always tight.
I learned how to fix a leaking sink with a YouTube video. I figured out how to stretch one chicken into three meals. I became an expert at finding clothes at thrift stores that still looked new.
I missed weddings.
Vacations.
Even my own doctor’s appointments.
But my kids never missed their school trips.
They always had birthday cakes.
And somehow, we always made it through.
Birthdays were special in our house.
Even when money was tight, I baked cakes from scratch. The kids would crowd around the bowl and fight over who got to lick the spoon.
We’d hang paper decorations and play music too loud.
For a few hours, the worries disappeared.
I told myself that one day, when they were older, they would understand how much I had given.
Of course, they grew up.
They always do.
Sarah left first for college. Then Mark. Then Jason.
