Chapter 2 The Third Parent
To reach your target length while maintaining the first-person intimacy, we can expand on the "morning hustle" and the physical toll of Mila’s secret-keeping. By adding more internal monologue regarding the sneakers and a moment of tension before they leave the apartment, we can bring the chapter to the desired 1,181–1,196 word range.
Here is the expanded Chapter 2.
Chapter 2: The Third Parent
The fifteen minutes of silence I’d carved out for myself evaporated the second the alarm on my phone buzzed against the nightstand. It was a dull, persistent vibration that signaled the end of my peace and the beginning of the performance. My muscles screamed as I sat up, a lingering ache from the sixteen-hour shift the day before, but I didn't have the luxury of acknowledging it. Fatigue was a debt I’d have to settle another time.
"Mila? Is it time?"
Zoe’s voice was a tiny, muffled chirp from the bedroom. I quickly wiped a stray drop of water from my cheek and stepped out of the bathroom, smoothing my shirt and pulling my shoulders back into a rigid, confident line.
"Time to wake up, bug," I called out, injecting a brightness into my voice that I didn't feel. "Sun’s almost up."
Zoe shuffled into the room, her hair a wild, blonde bird's nest. She was still half-asleep, dragging her ragged stuffed rabbit behind her by one ear. Behind her, Grace emerged more slowly. She didn't say a word, her dark eyes scanning the room with an unnerving precision, landing briefly on the pull-out sofa before settling on me.
"Mom and Dad already gone?" Grace asked. Her voice was too steady for a nine-year-old. It was the voice of someone who was already learning to count the absences.
"Double shifts," I said, reaching for the canister of oats. I kept my back to her so she couldn't see the flicker of doubt in my eyes. "Mom left a note. She said to tell you she loves you, and she’ll see you tonight. Dad’s doing a haul down at the docks."
I didn't mention the five dollars under the toaster. I didn't mention the docks. I just focused on the rhythmic sound of the wooden spoon hitting the side of the pot.
"I can do Zoe’s hair," Grace offered, sliding into a chair at the laminate table.
"Thanks, Gracie. Make the braids tight, okay? She has gym today, and I don't want it falling in her face when she’s running."
I watched them out of the corner of my eye as I prepped the bowls. Grace was meticulous, her small fingers working through Zoe’s tangles with a practiced patience that she shouldn't have had to learn yet. It was a domestic scene that looked almost normal, provided you didn't look at the peeling wallpaper, the cracked tiles, or the way I was carefully measuring the oats to make sure the girls got full servings while I settled for the leftover scrapings and a glass of lukewarm tap water.
Every bite I didn't take was a victory for them. That was the math of my life.
"Mila, my shoe feels funny again," Zoe said, kicking her right foot out so it hit the table leg with a dull thud.
My heart did a painful little stutter. I knelt in front of her on the cold linoleum, pulling the sneaker toward me. The sole was flapping like a hungry mouth, the clear packing tape I’d used two days ago now grey with city grime and peeling away in a jagged strip.
"It’s just a loose lace, bug," I lied, my throat tightening until it felt like I was swallowing glass. I pressed the tape back down with my thumb, knowing it wouldn't hold past the first period, much less through recess. "I’ll fix it before we leave. And hey, I have a surprise. After I drop you at school, I’m going to pick up those sparkly sneakers you liked at the shop on the corner."
Zoe’s face transformed, her eyes widening with a light that made the dim room feel brighter. "The ones with the lights in the heels? The ones that glow when you jump?"
"The ones with the lights," I promised, the weight of the lie settling heavily in my stomach. "A special treat because you’ve been so brave about the inhaler lately."
I felt Grace’s gaze on the back of my head, sharp and discerning. She knew the math didn't add up. She knew sneakers cost more than milk, and she knew that every time I brought home a "treat," it meant I was working until my feet bled. I didn't look at her. I couldn't. If I met her eyes, the shield would crumble, and I needed her to believe in the sparkly shoes. I needed both of them to believe that things were fine, that we weren't one missed shift away from the sidewalk.
"Eat up," I urged, sliding the bowls onto the table. "We have to be out the door in ten minutes or we’ll miss the first bell."
I moved through the apartment like a whirlwind, a blur of practiced efficiency. I stuffed Zoe’s inhaler into the side pocket of her backpack, checked Grace’s homework, and hunted down a matching pair of socks. Every move was a distraction, a performance designed to keep them from noticing the empty fridge, the silent house, or the way my hands were shaking ever so slightly.
I reached under the toaster and grabbed the five-dollar bill. It felt like lead in my pocket. That five dollars was supposed to be for milk—the one thing my parents had actually remembered—but now it was the down payment on Zoe’s dignity. I’d have to work three times as hard for tips today to cover the rest of the cost. I’d have to be the fastest, most charming waitress the cafe had ever seen. I’d have to smile until my face ached and flirt with the morning regulars just to ensure that Zoe could walk into her classroom without being the girl with the taped shoes.
"Mila? Are you okay?" Grace asked, standing by the door with her backpack on.
I realized I’d been staring at the toaster for too long. I forced a smile and grabbed my own bag. "Fine, Gracie. Just thinking about the grocery list. Let's move."
I locked the door and took Zoe’s hand, her small fingers warm. As we descended the creaking stairs of the apartment building, I looked at the back of Grace’s head. She was walking with her shoulders squared, a mirror image of the posture I forced myself to hold every single day. She was only nine, and she was already mimicking my defenses.
"Ready for the spelling test, Gracie?" I asked, nudging her shoulder as we hit the sidewalk.
"I'm ready," she said, finally giving me a small, tight smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
I just had to get two little girls to school without letting them see that their big sister was terrified. I just had to make it through the next eight hours without the world noticing that I was a fraud.