My fingers tighten around the phone 124

Aria’s POV
I stood in the middle of the supermarket aisle, squinting at the rows of juice bottles while trying to locate the specific
apple juice brand Lucas loved. What should have been a quick thirty-minute grocery trip had stretched well beyond an
hour. My patience was wearing dangerously thin, though I tried to be understanding about Lucas’s particularly cranky
mood today. He’d barely slept last night, waking repeatedly for various reasons—claiming the moonlight was too bright,
then hearing strange noises outside, and finally wanting to tell me a story he’d just thought of. Consequently, we were
both exhausted.
“Mom, I want that chocolate,” Lucas said for the third time, his emerald eyes wide and pleading, small chin jutting out
stubbornly in a way that revealed his adorable dimples.
I crouched down to his level, gently brushing a lock of dark hair from his forehead, hoping to distract him. “Remember? We already chose the dinosaur toy.”
Lucas shook his head, those bright eyes twinkling with mischief. “I want chocolate now. Dinosaurs are for babies. I don’t
like them anymore.” His small hand gripped the edge of the shopping cart, giving it a little shake while watching me
carefully for my reaction.
“I’ve already told you several times, sweetie, we can’t afford chocolate this week,” I said, keeping my voice gentle but firm.
“The dinosaur fits our budget, and you’ve always loved them.”
“But you bought some last week!” Lucas raised his voice, those big eyes suddenly filling with crystalline tears, his little
mouth turning downward as he transformed into the most pitiful wolf cub in existence. He rarely threw tantrums like this,
but exhaustion made his little emotions particularly raw. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, reminding myself this
was just his way of expressing fatigue. Yelling at a little wolf cub would only make things worse.
“Yes, Lucas,” I kept my voice steady, “when we have extra money, I can buy special treats you like, but not this week. The
twins coming means we need more savings.”
“I don’t like those babies anymore!” Lucas suddenly burst into tears, his small hands shoving the shopping cart with
surprising force for a child his size. The heavy metal cart lurched forward like a battering ram, slamming into the glass
display with a sickening crash.
Time seemed to slow as I watched the large jar of strawberry jam teeter on the edge of the shelf. It hung there for a
heartbeat—suspended in that terrible moment between accident and consequence—before plummeting to the floor. The
jar exploded on impact, sending glass shards skittering across the tile like ice crystals while thick red jam splattered in all
directions, looking disturbingly like blood.
“Lucas!” I gasped, lunging forward and snatching him against my body in one fluid motion. My heart hammered against
my ribs as I swept my hands over his arms and legs, frantically checking for cuts.
I dropped to my knees on the hard floor, ignoring the sticky jam soaking into my jeans. Taking his small face between my
palms, I turned his head gently but firmly until those tear-filled green eyes had no choice but to meet mine. His lower lip
quivered violently, his tiny chest heaving with hiccupping sobs.
“Lucas, listen to me,” I said, my voice dropping to that low, intense register that children instinctively recognize as deadly
serious. “Mommy understands you’re tired and frustrated, but breaking things isn’t okay. You can be angry, but you can’t
hurt yourself or destroy things, understand? That glass could have cut you and other people.”
Lucas’s little mouth trembled, those green eyes finally letting tears spill over. He blinked hard, seemingly fighting against
the tears, not wanting to cry in public.
“Oh my God. Some people just don’t know how to discipline their children,” a woman loudly commented from across the
aisle. “I wonder if that’s child abuse.”
My cheeks burned with shame and embarrassment. I closed my eyes to center myself while Lucas started crying harder.
“Ma’am?” I opened my eyes to see a store employee standing by the mess. I closed my eyes again with a sigh, trying to
collect myself. I was on the verge of tears myself. I was so tired, my emotions were all over the place, and despite taking multiple anti-nausea medications, I still felt sick. When my breathing steadied, I was finally ready to handle this calmly.
“I’m so sorry about the mess,” I said, my voice strained as I struggled to maintain composure. I tugged Lucas protectively
against my hip while surveying the disaster zone of ruby-red jam and gleaming glass shards. “If you have a mop or
broom, I can help clean up.”
Lucas buried his face against my side, his small shoulders shaking with renewed sobs. I could feel his hot tears soaking
through my thin t-shirt as he clung to me like a lifeline.
“Store policy is I handle the cleanup, but you’ll need to pay for the damaged merchandise.”
“Of course, that’s only fair.” I fumbled for my wallet, mentally reviewing our tight budget. The twins’ discovery had
already forced me to recalculate every penny. “How much do I—”
The fluorescent lights overhead suddenly intensified, blazing like miniature suns. My vision tunneled, dark spots
blooming at the edges like spilled ink. A wave of nausea crashed over me, sending cold sweat trickling down my spine.
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I fought against the encroaching darkness, focusing on my breathing—in through the nose, out through the mouth—like
doctor had taught me. Lucas’s hand felt impossibly small in mine as I squeezed it tighter, anchoring myself to him.
“Ma’am?” The clerk’s voice seemed to come from underwater, distorted and wavering. “This is imported organic jam, fifty
dollars with tax. Ma’am? Are you listening? Hello?”
I tried to respond, but my tongue felt thick and uncooperative. The floor beneath me tilted alarmingly. My free hand
flailed outward, desperate to find the shopping cart for support, but my fingers closed around empty air. The store began
to spin around me like a carnival ride.
Through the disorienting whirl, fragments of conversation sliced through my consciousness:
“…completely irresponsible parenting…”
“…should’ve controlled her kid…”
“…probably on drugs or something…”
“…fifty dollars is fifty dollars…”
Suddenly, a firm grip around my elbow halted my descent. I blinked hard, trying to clear my vision, and found myself
staring into eyes the color of warm honey—vibrant, alert, and radiating concern.
“Hey there,” the woman said, her voice low and steady. “When’s the last time you ate anything?”
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“I—” My lips felt numb, the words evaporating before I could form them. “The jam… I need to pay…”
She waved away my concerns with her free hand while the other maintained its supportive grip on my arm. “Sweetheart,
you need to sit down before you crack your head open on this floor. That would be a much bigger mess than some
spilled jam, trust me.”
“Can’t,” I managed, tightening my grip on Lucas’s hand until he squeaked in protest. “My son…”
Understanding flashed across her features. She crouched slightly to meet Lucas’s teary gaze. “Hey, brave boy. Your mom
needs to rest for a minute. Think you can help me get her somewhere she can sit down? We’ll all go together, promise.”
I sat on the small bench, pulling Lucas to my side. I massaged my forehead with my fingers, closing my eyes and blocking
the light with my palm for a moment. I hoped the dizziness would finally pass, but according to the doctor, these spells would likely continue, just as they had when I was pregnant with Lucas. The world quieted around me, helping the
dizziness slowly subside. I was incredibly grateful for the woman’s help. Lucas’s small hand rested on my arm, “Mom? Are
you okay?”
“Mmm, Lucas. I just need a minute.”
“Mom, I’m sorry I broke the juice. I promise I won’t do it again,” Lucas said quietly, his voice still nasal from crying.
“It’s okay, baby, thank you for apologizing. Please stay by my side. Your little brothers or sisters are making Mommy
dizzy.”
“They’re not very nice. Always making you sick,” he leaned toward my stomach, so I leaned back, smiling as Lucas began
lecturing my belly, “Listen up, little sisters, you need to be nicer to our mom. She’s the best.”
“What a sweet boy you have,” said the woman who had helped me, her voice gentle. “You’re going to be an excellent big
brother. I can tell already!”
“Do you really, really think so?” Lucas asked, hope filling his eyes.
The woman laughed, “Yes, absolutel