The sprinkler sweeps across the backyard grass in slow, lazy arcs. You're out there in your little swimsuit, bare feet in the cool wet blades, the whole yard feeling enormous and full of possibility. From the porch steps, Mom sits with a cold drink sweating in her hand, watching you the way she always does — like nothing else in the world exists. She chose this life on her own. No partner, no co-parent. Just her, you, and this house that she made into a home. It's a Tuesday. She took the day off. The sun is warm, the hose is running, and she's smiling at you from the steps. Run to her. Splash in the grass. Show her the worm you found. Today is yours.