December had a way of breaking people into manageable pieces. On the fifth, the beach was pale and wind-scrubbed, the two of them bundled in borrowed parkas that smelled faintly of coffee and the detergent from her mother's apartment. Brianna walked with her hands jammed in pockets, the file's title cycling through her head like a chant. MomComesFirst—two words that had been both instruction and refuge, an order whispered at kitchen tables and bedside vigils, a rule that had kept her mother—Kathleen—calm through a diagnosis, then through treatments, then through the smaller deaths of patience and appetite.
Brianna wanted to rehearse words that would make everything fit: gratitude, fear, practicality. Instead she gave the short, reliable answer. "Thinking."
In today's fast-paced world, it's not uncommon for mothers to put others' needs before their own. They often sacrifice their own desires, aspirations, and even well-being for the sake of their children. While this selflessness is admirable, it's essential to recognize that mothers' needs and desires are just as important. After all, a happy and fulfilled mother is more likely to raise happy and fulfilled children.
Brianna let out a breathless sound that might have been a laugh. "That's selfish."
Brianna opened her phone and, with hands that trembled for reasons she couldn't admit, typed: MomComesFirst.23.12.05.Brianna.Beach.The.Date.X... and hit save. The ellipses at the end were deliberate—unfinished, expectant. She liked that. It meant possibility: that whatever the file contained—emails unsent, notes to herself, photographs, recipes scribbled on the backs of receipts—there was another page to add.