A Mirror in the Deep

It happens in the littlest moments. My son holds up his sketchbook and shows me a drawing of a fish, asking if it looks like the one we saw at the aquarium. I glance at my phone, lost in a spreadsheet, and murmur that it's time for school. Later, my daughter watches me and says quietly, "Mommy, I wanted to draw whales, but you're too busy." Her words sink like stones, and in that instant I feel something crack inside me.

That night I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, looking at tired eyes I barely recognize. The lines of exhaustion on my face mix with the ghost of the child I once was - bright-eyed and curious. I realize in horror that by shelving my own dreams, I've been shelving theirs, too. Unintentionally, I've become the quiet current pulling them away from what they love.

I remember saying the same thing my mother said to me when I begged to skip chores and go to the aquarium. A knot tightens in my throat: a silent apology to the little artist at the kitchen table and to my younger self. Tomorrow, I promise myself, things will change.