The Blue Curtains

“Set it down here.”

The movers stacked the remaining boxes in the bungalow’s narrow hallway, crowding the walkway. I didn’t ask them to adjust. It was my fault for suggesting the spot, so I stayed where I was and watched them work.

At least the hard part was over.

Broad-shouldered men squeezed bedrails past me, metal scraping the glossy wall as they maneuvered around where I stood. I didn’t step back. I made a low, distinct sound of irritation, objecting on behalf of the chipped paint.

My phone vibrated in my back pocket. I moved further into the living room before answering.

Macy’s picture filled the screen.

“Mom, how did it go? Are you picking me up tomorrow?”

I looked at the boxes, the remains of my life divided into careful categories: kitchen, bedroom, misc.

“Um, not tomorrow, baby. Grandma will pick you up again, and your dad gets you on Thursday. We talked about this.”

There was a pause on the line.

“I wanted you to pick me up.”

I pressed my thumb against the edge of a box.

“I know. But this is how it’s gotta be for now. We have court coming up.”

I listened to the faint, disappointed whimpers on the other end before interrupting them.

“I’ll get you on Friday. You can stay at the new place for the weekend. They’re putting your bed together now.”

She hesitated. I imagined her deciding whether it was worth pushing back.

“Okay, Mom.”

After the call ended, I slid the phone into my pocket and took in the largest room of the house.

It wasn’t my standard in size or my standard of clean. Dust drifted through a narrow blade of light cutting across the floor. The landlord had promised everything would be cleared out before the movers arrived. Apparently, she hadn’t counted the curtains.

I pinched the fabric between my fingers. Grit clung to my skin.

They hung too long, brushing the floor in an uneven hem, their color dulled by years of sun. Blue once, they were now a hideous shade of something submerged.

A throat cleared near the door. I stepped back into the hallway to sign the clipboard, then stood there longer than necessary, listening to the house settle around me.

I carried one box beneath the living room window and cut the tape with a boxcutter from my oversized purse. Electronics stared up at me. Our old iPad, the laptop riser, a mouse, and a tangle of random cords sat waiting to be sorted.

The thought of deciding where they and every other object belonged felt silly to me. I closed the box and sat on the floor instead, my back against the yellowed wall, watching the curtains shift slightly as the air moved around them. Their oldness reminded me of the life I’d left behind.

Outside, a neighbor’s door closed. Down the block, a dog barked once and stopped. I hoped my doorbell wouldn’t ring. I wasn’t ready for that.

The iPad lit up in the box.

I reached in and pulled it free.

A message waited.

I miss you

My face slowly wrinkled into heated disgust. I gripped the tablet until the feeling passed, then rested it on my knees and typed.

I’m busy right now…you don’t need to keep messaging me

I watched the cursor disappear, satisfied with the restraint of it, and set the tablet aside.

I spent the next few days cleaning around the stacked reminders of a life reorganizing itself into something lonelier. I wiped baseboards, scrubbed cabinets, and chased dust from corners with a damp rag. The blue curtains filtered the light, and I ignored the peace they swallowed.

My phone rang while I was rinsing a bucket at the sink.

Craig’s name sat on the screen longer than it should have before I answered. Long enough to remember how easy it was for a new woman to slip into the space I once occupied.

“Hey, Donna. Just checking in. How was your move?”

“Fine.” I turned off the water. “What do you want?”

He hesitated as if stunned by my tone—as if he hadn’t been the one who wanted the divorce and already rehearsed a future that didn’t include me.

“I was just—” He stopped, recalibrated. “I wanted to make sure Macy had my new number. I haven’t heard from her.”

“Of course she does.” I dried my hands on a towel. “Why wouldn’t she?”

Another pause. I pictured him somewhere out of view from his girlfriend, phone pressed to his ear, trying to sound casual.

“Okay,” he said. “Just checking.”

“Well, you’ve checked.” I glanced at the clock above the stove, still set to the wrong time. “You’re picking her up today, right? It’s Thursday.”

“Yeah. At 2:30.”

“Great.” I didn’t wait for a response before ending the call.

I returned the towel to its newly placed hook and crossed into the living room. On the just-delivered sofa, the iPad lit up as if it had been listening.

I didn’t pick it up right away. I finished mopping, shoved the supplies into the closet, then sat next to the tablet before reading the message.

You didn’t answer me yesterday

I exhaled slowly, irritation blooming where guilt should have been.

We talked about this…

The typing dots appeared, vanished, then returned. The next message on the thread came through.

I thought maybe you forgot about me. I really miss you…why can’t you just talk to me??? I feel like breaking up our family was a huge mistake. I just need you to talk to me…PLEASE!!! Do you even love me anymore???

The desperation in it made my throat burn with resentment. Craig had chosen a new life, a new woman, and somehow I was still the one expected to hold it all in.

I’m not doing this back and forth with you anymore…it’s time for you to move on with your life

The dots appeared. Lingered. Disappeared. Returned.

I watched and waited for the response. The dots vanished. When they returned again, the message was shorter than expected.

okay

I turned the tablet facedown. I didn’t realize my eyes had filled until the pressure made me blink.

Outside, a car passed slowly. I imagined the school parking lot filling the same way it always did. Parents idling, children scanning for familiar faces, Macy listening for the roar of her dad’s white dually.

Warm tears streamed down my face, and I just sat there, staring stupidly at the curtains. I wondered if his girlfriend knew how lucky she was to arrive after the hard parts were already done.

My phone rang again less than an hour later.

The number wasn’t saved, but something pulled at me to answer anyway.

“This is Donna.”

“Mrs. Reynolds, this is the front office at Macy’s school. I’m calling about an incident during dismissal.”

The word incident hit like a dropped plate. I stood, as if that would keep me from breaking.

“Is she hurt?”

“No,” the woman said quickly. “Not physically. But she became very upset when it was time to leave.”

I waited for more details.

“She didn’t want to get into the car with her father,” the woman continued. “She was crying, yelling. She said she was scared.”

My fingers curled around the phone.

“Scared of what?”

The woman sighed, but through careful undertones.

“She said her father was angry. That he was yelling. She told staff he threatened to discipline her if she didn’t get into the truck.”

I closed my eyes. I could picture it too clearly. His frustration. His insistence. The way a child could mistake urgency for menace.

“Discipline how?”

“Well—she used the word belt,” the woman said. “We didn’t see anything like that, but she was very distressed. Staff intervened before he left the parking lot.”

The room felt tighter.

“So—she’s still there?”

The woman didn’t disappoint. “Yes, ma’am. When we asked him to step back so we could calm her down, he refused at first. He raised his voice and insisted that she get into the vehicle.”

I scanned the room for my purse. Keys—I needed my keys.

“He eventually left,” the woman added. “Macy is with the counselor now. We’d like you to come pick her up.”

Finding my purse on the kitchen counter, I assured her.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I ended the call before she could thank me.

I crossed the living room and glanced at the iPad. Instinct told me to leave it behind. Instead, I slid it into my purse.

The screen lit briefly.

A final message.

I hate you, Dad. I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN

Something in my chest loosened, and a smile crept across my face.

Before leaving, I stopped beneath the window. The blue curtains still hung there, muting the light until the room felt stalled. In this moment, I saw no reason to change them.

The house seemed content to keep what happened inside from being seen.

I grabbed my keys and went to get my daughter.