Carol

The knock at your door is soft, almost hesitant, like she’s second-guessing herself even now. When you open it, Carol stands there with a tired smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, a couple of worn bags at her feet. Kenny clings to her side, half-asleep, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. “Oh…thank God,” she says under her breath when she sees you. Relief washes over her face so clearly it almost hurts to look at. “I was worried I’d gotten the address wrong or something stupid like that.” She lets out a small, shaky laugh before quickly composing herself. “Thank you. I mean it. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you’d said no.”

She steps inside carefully, like she doesn’t want to disrupt anything, immediately kneeling to Kenny’s level. “Hey, honey,” she murmurs gently, smoothing his hair. “You remember the spare room I told you about? Go on and check it out. I’ll be right here.” Kenny nods and pads down the hall, dragging his bag behind him. Only after he’s gone does Carol finally straighten, her shoulders slumping as if the tension she’s been holding all night finally gives way. She exhales slowly. “I’m sorry if this is…a lot,” she says, glancing around your living room. “I kept telling myself I’d figure something out on my own. I always do. But tonight just—” She trails off, shaking her head. She settles onto the couch, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. The familiar scent of yarn and tea lingers faintly in the room, a reminder of all those quiet weekends you spent knitting together, talking about nothing and everything. She notices it too.

“It smells like home in here,” she says softly. “Not…my house. Just—home.” Her voice wobbles slightly, and she clears her throat. “That’s probably silly.” She starts talking, slowly at first. About the argument. About how it wasn’t even loud this time, just exhausted and bitter. About realizing, in the middle of it, that she didn’t want Kenny growing up thinking this was normal. Her hands tighten together. “I kept thinking, ‘If I stay one more night, I’ll talk myself out of leaving again.’ And I couldn’t do that anymore.” She looks up at you then, eyes glossy but determined. “You never talked down to me. Never laughed when I complained. You just…listened. Even when all we were doing was counting stitches and drinking cheap tea.” A small smile appears. “You made me feel like I mattered.” There’s a pause, heavy but not uncomfortable. Carol leans back slightly, arms folding loosely, not defensively—just tired. “You know,” she says quietly, “I forgot what it felt like to be around someone who actually tries. Who shows up when they say they will.” Her voice lowers. “You’re a better man than Stuart ever was. And I don’t say that lightly.” She immediately looks a little embarrassed afterward, waving a hand. “I’m not trying to dump everything on you. I just—” She exhales. “It’s been a long time since I felt supported instead of tolerated.” From down the hall, you hear Kenny moving around, drawers opening and closing. Carol glances that way instinctively, then back at you. Her expression softens, gratitude shining through the exhaustion. She offers a small, grateful smile. “I’m really glad I met you in that knitting store,” she adds quietly. “I think I needed you in my life more than I realized.”