Chapter 7 Small Mercies
Elena's POV
The alarm went off at five-thirty.
I slapped it silent before the second beep, blinking into the darkness.
My body screamed for another hour—another three hours—but the clock didn't care about exhaustion.
I rolled out of bed, feet hitting the cold floor, and shuffled to the bathroom. Splashed water on my face.
Stared at my reflection—dark circles under my eyes, hair a mess, looking every bit as tired as I felt.
No time for that.
I brushed my teeth, pulled my hair into a bun, and padded quietly down the hallway to Leo's room.
He was sprawled across his toddler bed, covers kicked off, one arm flung over his stuffed elephant.
His mouth was open slightly, dark lashes resting against his cheeks.
I stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching him breathe.
This. This was why I could survive anything.
"Leo," I whispered, kneeling beside his bed. "Baby, time to wake up."
He didn't stir.
I ran my fingers through his hair—soft, messy, exactly like his father's though I tried not to think about that. "Come on, sleepyhead. Mama has to go to work."
His nose scrunched. "No."
"Yes."
"Five more minutes."
"You don't know what five minutes means."
One eye cracked open. "Please?"
God, those eyes. Big and dark and far too good at getting what they wanted.
"Okay. Five minutes. But then we really have to get up."
"'Kay." He was already drifting back to sleep.
I went to the kitchen, started the coffee maker, and pulled out the oatmeal.
The house was quiet except for the old pipes creaking and the coffee gurgling. Outside, the sky was still dark, stars fading.
I measured oats and water, added a pinch of cinnamon the way Leo liked it. Set out his dinosaur bowl and plastic spoon. Poured myself coffee in a chipped mug that said "World's Best Mom"—a gift from Mrs. Chen last Mother's Day.
Five minutes passed.
I went back to Leo's room. He hadn't moved.
"Alright, buddy. Time's up." I scooped him up, blanket and all.
He made a sound of protest, burying his face in my shoulder.
"I know, I know. Life is so hard."
"Tired, Mama."
"Me too, baby."
I carried him to the kitchen, settled him in his chair, tucked the blanket around his legs. He blinked at me, still half-asleep, hair sticking up in every direction.
"Hungry?"
A small nod.
I set the oatmeal in front of him—not too hot, with a little honey swirled on top. He picked up his spoon, missed his mouth completely on the first try.
"Here." I guided his hand. "Like this."
He took a bite, chewing slowly, eyes already closing again.
"Leo. Stay awake."
"Trying."
I sat across from him with my coffee, watching him fight sleep between bites. His cheeks were flushed from being warm in bed, his dinosaur pajamas twisted from tossing around all night.
"What are you going to do today with Mrs. Chen?" I asked.
He perked up slightly. "We gonna make cookies."
"That sounds fun."
"Chocolate chip." He took another bite. "Can I bring you one?"
My chest squeezed. "You want to save me a cookie?"
"The biggest one."
"Then I definitely want it."
He smiled, dimples appearing, and just like that my exhaustion didn't matter.
\---
By six-fifteen, the oatmeal was gone and Leo was more awake. I wiped his face—sticky with honey—and lifted him out of the chair.
"Bath time."
"Do I have to?"
"Yes."
"But I'm not dirty."
I raised an eyebrow. "You have oatmeal in your hair."
He touched his head, felt the sticky spot, and sighed dramatically. "Okay."
I carried him to the bathroom, started the water running in the tub—testing it with my elbow until it was just right. Not too hot, not too cold. I added a squirt of baby wash, and bubbles started forming.
Leo's face lit up. "Bubbles!"
"Just a few. We don't have time for a long bath."
"Can I bring dinosaur?"
"The plastic one, not the stuffed one."
He ran to his room, came back clutching his green T-Rex. I helped him out of his pajamas and into the tub. He immediately started making the dinosaur swim through the bubbles.
"Rawr! I'm a sea monster!"
"A very clean sea monster." I grabbed the washcloth, soaped it up, and started washing his back.
"Mama, watch!" He made the dinosaur dive under the bubbles and pop back up. "He's hunting!"
"Very fierce." I washed behind his ears, under his arms, working quickly.
"Can we get more dinosaurs?"
"Maybe for your birthday."
"When's my birthday?"
"Three months."
"That's forever."
"It'll come fast." I shampooed his hair, careful not to get soap in his eyes. "Close your eyes, baby. Rinse time."
He squeezed them shut, scrunching his whole face. I used the cup to pour water over his head, washing away the suds.
"All done."
"Already?"
"Already." I pulled the drain, wrapped him in a towel—the blue one with the hood that made him look like a little bear. He giggled as I rubbed him dry.
"I'm fuzzy."
"The fuzziest." I carried him back to his room, set him on the bed. "Okay, what do you want to wear today?"
He considered this seriously. "Red shirt."
"With the rocket?"
"Yeah!"
I found the shirt—slightly too small now, but still his favorite—and a pair of jeans. Helped him wiggle into them, struggling with the shirt because he refused to put his arms up at the right time.
"Leo, arms up means both arms, not one."
"I forgot."
"You didn't forget, you're being difficult."
He grinned, and I couldn't help but smile back.
Once he was dressed, I tackled his hair—damp and wild, sticking up in every direction. I tried to comb it down, but it sprang back up immediately.
"Your hair has a mind of its own."
"Like Mama's."
"Exactly like Mama's."
I gave up, let it do what it wanted, and kissed the top of his head. "Perfect. Now play with your blocks while Mama gets ready, okay?"
"Okay." He was already crawling toward his toy box.
I had fifteen minutes.
I showered in record time—three minutes of hot water that sputtered halfway through because the heater was old and temperamental.
Dried off, pulled on my work clothes—the same black skirt, a different blouse, the new shoes that still felt stiff.
Makeup was minimal. Concealer for the dark circles. Mascara so I didn't look dead. Lipstick because it made me feel more put-together than I was.
Hair was the hardest part. I tried to smooth it, brush it, force it into submission.
It fought back. Finally, I twisted it into a bun, secured it with enough pins to hold, and called it good enough.
My reflection looked tired but professional.
It would have to do.
"Leo, time to go!"
"Coming!"
I grabbed my bag, his backpack—stuffed with extra clothes, snacks, the stuffed elephant he couldn't sleep without.
Found my keys under a pile of mail. Checked my phone—six-forty. Good.
Leo appeared in the doorway, dragging his dinosaur.
"Can I bring him?"
"To Mrs. Chen's, yes. But he has to stay there, okay? He can't come to Mama's work."
"Why not?"
"Because my work is boring and he'd be sad."
Leo considered this, then nodded. "Okay. He can guard my cookies."
"Perfect job for him."
I helped Leo into his jacket—the zipper stuck halfway, and I had to wiggle it up. Grabbed his backpack, my bag, locked the door behind us.
The morning air was cold and sharp. Leo's hand was small and warm in mine as we walked to the bus stop.
"Mama?"
"Yeah, baby?"
"Do you like your new job?"
I looked down at him. His face was serious, concerned in that way kids get when they sense something's wrong.
"I'm learning to like it."
"Is it hard?"
"Very hard."
"But you're good at hard things."
My throat tightened. "Who told you that?"
"Mrs. Chen. She said you're the strongest mama ever."
I squeezed his hand. "Mrs. Chen is very smart."
The bus appeared, rumbling down the street. We climbed on, found two seats together.
Leo pressed his face to the window, watching the city wake up—shops opening, people walking dogs, cars filling the streets.
"Mama?"
"Mmm?"
"I'm gonna miss you today."
"I'm gonna miss you too."
"But you'll come get me after work?"
"Always."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
He settled against my side, content with that answer. I wrapped my arm around him, rested my chin on his head, and tried to memorize this moment—the weight of him, the trust, the love so fierce it hurt.
The bus carried us through the city as the sun finally broke over the buildings, painting everything gold.
Mrs. Chen's apartment building was small and worn, tucked between a laundromat and a convenience store.
We climbed the stairs to the third floor—Leo counting each step out loud—and knocked on her door.
She opened it immediately, already dressed, smelling like jasmine tea and ginger.
"There's my boy!" She scooped Leo up, squeezing him tight. "Are you ready to make cookies?"
"Yes! Chocolate chip!"
"The best kind." She set him down, and he ran inside, already talking about how many cookies they'd make.
Mrs. Chen turned to me. "You look tired."
"I'm fine."
"You're exhausted. Are they working you too hard?"
"I'm just learning. It'll get easier."
She didn't look convinced. "You need to take care of yourself. You can't pour from an empty cup."
"I will. I promise."
She sighed, then pulled me into a quick hug. "Go. Do your job. He'll be fine."
"I know." I looked past her to where Leo was already pulling out mixing bowls. "Thank you. For everything."
"Family takes care of family."
I left before I started crying.