
13/06/2025
The Smile She Wore
Every morning at 6:00 a.m., the alarm buzzed like a stubborn reminder that life didn’t come with a pause button. Elena, a single mom of two, blinked the sleep from her eyes and reached for her cracked phone, silencing the alarm before it woke the kids. The silence in those early moments was golden, but heavy.
She stood in front of the mirror, brushing out her hair, practicing the smile she would wear like armor. The same smile she used to calm teachers, impress her boss, and reassure her children. The same one that masked the anxiety chewing away at her soul like moths in a closet.
Bills stacked on the kitchen counter like a game of Jenga, she couldn’t afford to lose. Rent was late again. Groceries were carefully calculated down to the last coupon. Gas tank? A mystery she left to faith, more than math.
But every day, Elena showed up.
She got the kids ready—pancakes shaped like dinosaurs on good days, toast with a smiley face made of jelly on others. She’d drop them off at school, kiss their cheeks, and whisper, “Be brave, okay? I’ll be brave too.”
At work, she answered phones with the grace of a queen and the speed of a caffeinated squirrel. No one saw the tiredness in her eyes, just the brightness of her “Can I help you?” voice. Her co-workers thought she had it all together. If only they knew the mental gymnastics it took just to stay afloat.
But at night, when her babies were asleep and the world quieted down, the mask cracked. That’s when the tears came. Quiet sobs into a pillow so no one would hear. Thoughts spiraling: Am I enough? How long can I do this? What if I break and no one notices?
And yet.
The next morning, the alarm buzzed again. And she rose.
Because that’s what moms do.
But don’t get her wrong—she wasn’t just a walking inspiration wrapped in exhaustion. Elena had her fun side, too. She knew every line of the kids’ favorite cartoons. She had secret dance parties in the kitchen with a wooden spoon mic. And she once made a haunted house out of cardboard boxes and scared herself more than the kids.
She was a storm and a shelter. A cracked vase still holding wildflowers.