Chapter 1
Mallory:
The alarm went off, and the urge to just crawl back into the soft linen cotton hit. What was the article she had just read—that moms were now hiring family managers? The newest trend. Not her. She was going to raise these two girls, be the best English teacher, and keep her husband’s eyes (and hands) right at home. She was not her mom, a weak human who thought she had to have a man’s attention, regardless of his moral compass, to have any worth. No, this house was not going to run itself, and she certainly wouldn’t be hiring a family manager. With resolve, she got up without even glancing at the man who had been next to her for almost 30 years.
She didn’t go to bed with dishes in her sink; she wouldn’t dream of letting her head hit the pillow without pre-setting the coffee pot. And as she made her way to the half bath down the hall from the master bedroom, she was forever grateful for her dedication and organizational fortitude. Some would call her boring, predictable, but now she was up and getting ready without the drag of last night’s chores bringing her into a wheel of gloom. This Tuesday would be like the last—she would control everything her teen girls and husband do, she would make it to work, and she would get through the day with her tidy armor intact.
But just as she reached for the light switch, the silence of the house broke—her youngest let out a guttural scream from upstairs, the kind that could only mean blood, betrayal, or both. Her breath caught. The illusion of control cracked slightly as she turned on her heel and rushed toward the stairs, her freshly brewed calm now teetering on the edge of chaos.
She bounded up the stairs, heart pounding, already bracing for the worst—a broken bone, a fight between sisters, maybe a shattered straightener mid-battle for bathroom supremacy. The light pink bedding with small woodland animals was scattered all over the soft gray carpet. Julia was not in the room. The screaming had stopped. She quickly made her way to the bathroom ignoring the mess of the sheets. Where was her child? The bathroom was empty.
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Perfectly Imperfect 