Starting With Good Intentions
The day began with more of the same: Eve, the girls, and I waking up, finishing more pantry clening, and getting breakfast together. Progress, at least. Small wins before the day really got going.
After that, we finally made it to Lyonia Preserve. Brandon came with us. I was looking forward to fresh air and something grounding after so many indoor days.
What I didn't expect was how nerve-wrecking it would feel.
When Supervision Becomes a Full-Time Job
One of the girls spent most of the trail running far ahead—sometimes nearly half a mile, often completely out of sight. She refused to listen, no matter how many times we called her back.
It turned what should've been a peaceful walk into constant anxiety. Every step forward came with the tension of scanning ahead, wondering if she was safe, wondering if she'd reappear.
After the trails, we went inside the building—a kind of wildlife exhibit—and then stopped by the Deltona library so the kids could play. Even there, things stayed loud and chaotic. The kind of energy that makes you acutely aware of every glance around you.
By the point, we all needed a break.
A Necessary Pause
We dropped the girls off with their grandmother so everyone could decompress. Brandon stayed with us, and we went to McDonald's for lunch. We briefly considered somewhere nicer, but it was unexpectedly packed.
Simple felt right.
After lunch, I dropped Eve off and went home to do more cleaning—resetting the house yet again.
Showing Up When It Matters
Later, Eve mentioned her hand was still hurting. It's been bothering her for weeks, and something about the way she described it made me uneasy. I decided not to wait.
We went to the hospital.
It wasn't broken—thankfully—but likely a tendon issue. They gave her a brace to keep her thumb stabilized. Relief mixed with concern. At least we had answers.
I dropped her off afterward and went back home, where the cycle continued—cleaning, tidying, keeping things running.
One More Trip, One More Choice
That evening, I went back to Eve's place to return a table and a stuffed bunny her daughter had left behind. I stayed for a little while—nothing big, just time passing quietly. We listened to some Eminem.
As I was getting ready to leave, Eve's mom suggested Eve come back with me—without the kids.
It felt like an opportunity for calm. Just quiet. No chaos. No juggling.
So we did.
When peace Causes Conflict
I tried to be discreet, knowing how sensitive the situation can be at home. Still, it didn't go unnoticed. Having Eve and over again—especially for a third night this week—sparked another argument.
From my perspective, it shouldn't have been a problem. Two nights with kids. One night without. When she's here alone, we stay in my room, keep to ourselves, and don't disrupt anyone else's space.
But sometimes it feels like wanting a personal life—especially one that doesn't align perfectly with someone else's expectations—creates conflict on its own.
Sitting With the Frustration
What weighs on me isn't just the disagreement—it's the feeling that any choice I make that doesn't match someone else's comfort level becomes a problem, regardless of how carefully or respectfully I try to handle it.
I don't want chaos.
I don't want tension.
I just want the ability to live my life without every decision becoming a battle.
Tonight wasn't about rebellion.
It was about peace.
And I'm still trying to figure out why peace feels so hard to hold onto.