Ashley had forgotten how fast time moved when you were fourteen. Days passed like dominoes toppling – school, homework, tiny victories stacked on bigger plans. But underneath her focus, something old and cold stirred in her memory. The affair.
It would begin in about two years, she remembered – third year of high school. That was when Ryan, their father, started seeing Michelle.
She had a happy childhood filled with love. Everyone said her parents had an ideal marriage – similar family backgrounds, met at the right time to settle down, and had the three of them. In this life, Ashley knew that the things in her control are limited. She cannot control her father's actions, she can only hope for the best. Maybe in this life, she would still have a complete family.
It started slowly in the old timeline. A little more time "at work." Forgotten birthdays. Helen stayed up late waiting for him, cooking meals that grew cold on untouched plates. And then, the worst part: the weight that fell on Ashley as her mother broke quietly, piece by piece.
She wouldn't let it happen again.
It was late October in her third year – the year she turned seventeen – when Ashley noticed the first signs. Ones that she never noticed before, too preoccupied with life feeling so massive in your teenage years.
Ryan started staying out late – nothing unusual on the surface, but Ashley remembered the pattern. The excuses. "Work dinner." "Client meeting." "Traffic."
One Friday evening, Ashley sat at the kitchen table as Helen cleaned up. Ryan was supposed to be home for dinner. It was already 8:15.
Helen didn't complain – she never did – but Ashley saw the way her hands lingered over the plates, the tension in her jaw.
"You should take that baking class you talked about," she said casually, watching her mother from across the table. "The one with the weekend classes."
Helen blinked, pulled from her thoughts. "I don't know, that seems like such a big commitment."
"You deserve to do something for you. Not just the house and us."
Helen chuckled, but it sounded tired. "I know you mean well, but mom has got responsibilities".
"You'll still have them. But if you start now, you can open your own bakery in a few years. Be independent."
Helen raised an eyebrow. "Independent from what?"
Ashley hesitated, then smiled. "From boring dinners like this one."
A week later, Helen came home with a flyer. She placed it on the fridge with a magnet shaped like a pancake.
"Weekend baking certificate," she announced. "Twenty Saturdays, starting next month." Helen, hesitant at first, enrolled in a local culinary program.
Ashley grinned. "That's amazing, Mom."
Anthea, sitting at the table with a crayon in each hand, asked, "Does that mean we'll eat cake all the time?"
"I hope so," Arthur muttered, flipping through a graphic novel.
Helen rolled her eyes. "You'll be my taste testers."
Ashley offered to help with chores, and helped her make an Instagram page called "Sunday Mornings" so she can post all of her mom's creations, along with her journey of learning how to bake. Helen named it Sunday Morning, because it reminded her of everything she loved – quiet joy, the smell of butter, her children laughing over tea. It was the earlier days of social media, but she knew having digital identity is important as early as now. Regardless if her mom wants to grow the business or not, she wanted to have that option available.
Ashley tucked the memory away. Another domino, carefully nudged.
Slowly, that spark in Helen's eyes returned.