Cinnamon or Powdered Donuts

I roll over and look through the blurry haze of my half-open eyelids. My phone says it’s 7:27. I sigh in dread, not because I have to load up the family and drive the 1,300 plus miles from Texas to Indiana, but because I will be taking my stepdaughters away from their father. 

Ten year-old Allie carefully opens the door and sticks her head in. “How long before we’re gonna leave?” she asks in a whisper.

“Probably in an hour. As soon as I get everything in the van,” I reply from under the covers.

She rolls her eyes in disgust.

Normally I would correct her negative reaction. Not this morning, not after she just spent a week with her dad. A selfish part of me wishes Allie would just suck it up and accept the fact that we don’t live here anymore. We live in Indiana now near my three boys. Why can’t she understand how important it is for the boys to have their father. Except for a few select holidays and short vacations, my sons have had to do without me for close to five years.

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