When I was ten, my mother braided my hair every morning—but only on the days my father was home.

I used to wonder why she skipped it on the other mornings. Whenever I asked, she’d give a gentle smile and say, “It’s easier this way.” At the time, I accepted it as one of those vague adult answers kids don’t push back on. I didn’t think much of it. I just enjoyed the steady pull of her hands, the quiet start to the day, and the sense that life in our little house was exactly as it should be.

On the mornings when my dad was away on business, everything felt lighter.

Mom lingered over breakfast with me, sometimes laughing when milk spilled or the radio host told a bad joke. My hair stayed unstyled, and we’d rush out together without stress or tension. I didn’t recognize the shift in her energy back then. I assumed she was simply being efficient, cutting corners when it was just the two of us. As a child, I couldn’t see how much effort adults put into keeping life smooth.