Invisible Things

A quiet look at a mother's late-night sacrifices and the invisible threads of family love.

Elena folded the tiny socks beside the dryer’s weary hum, pairing them by memory instead of color; exhaustion blurred everything after midnight. Her spine throbbed from chasing a toddler determined to outrun sleep. In the hallway, her husband’s scrubs waited in a crumpled heap beside steel-toed boots dusted white with drywall. Tomorrow, he would wake before dawn, kiss her forehead, and never notice the basket magically emptied overnight. She smoothed the last shirt flat across her knees, listening to the house breathe around her. Love, she thought, was rarely fireworks. Mostly, it was becoming invisible so someone else could rest easier.
Word Count:100