It started at breakfast.
Just Evelyn, her mother, and the low hum of the electric kettle warming up in the kitchen. The morning sun filtered through the lace curtains, casting a golden wash over the countertop and the small vase of artificial daisies that had been there since Evelyn was in middle school.
She'd barely touched her toast.
Her mother was standing near the sink, arms crossed loosely, the sleeve of her cardigan slipping down one shoulder. Her tone was light—but it carried an edge Evelyn had come to recognize like a thread in a woven pattern.
"So, I spoke with Aunt Nadine last night after dinner," her mother said. "She mentioned that her friend's daughter had just been hired at a counseling firm downtown. A real office job. Salary and everything. Said they're still hiring juniors."
Evelyn blinked once. The toast cooled in her hands.
"I don't think I'm looking for that kind of job," she said slowly.
Her mother turned, mug in hand. "It's a good opportunity, Evelyn. Something you could build on. And it's related to your degree."
"It's not just about the degree."
Her mother's expression softened into something more careful. "I know you're still exploring. But sometimes you have to take a step in the real world to see what fits. You don't want to get stuck in some unpaid internship or temp job forever."
Evelyn stared at the table.
There it was again. The polite reshaping of her choices into "temporary" things. As if her volunteering was just a placeholder until she returned to a "real" path. As if the quiet passion she felt every time she talked someone through their anxiety wasn't enough.
"I'm not stuck," Evelyn said, more firmly this time. "I'm not wasting time."
Her mother's brow lifted just a little. "Sweetheart, I never said you were. I just want to make sure you're not closing doors before you know what's behind them."
"But what if I already do know?" Evelyn said, her voice rising ever so slightly. "What if I've spent the last year learning not just about school, but about me? And I finally like the direction I'm going?"
Her mother hesitated, caught in the stillness.
"I'm not dismissing what you're doing," she said carefully. "But don't you think it's better to have stability first? Before chasing what might not work out?"
"Why is it always about stability?" Evelyn asked her tone sharper now. "Why does it feel like anything that doesn't fit your definition of success is just a phase I'm supposed to grow out of?"
The words rang out like a bell between them. Not shouted, but undeniable.
Her mother sat down slowly across from her, setting her mug on the table. The steam spiraled between them like a pause.
"I've seen people regret not being practical," her mother said softly. "Regret chasing things that didn't lead anywhere."
"And I've seen people regret never even trying," Evelyn countered, her voice trembling now—not from anger, but from years of holding back. "I'm not floundering, Mom. I'm not drifting. I know what I care about. I know what kind of life I want to build. It may not look like what you imagined, but it's mine."
Silence again. Not empty this time—just full of something unspoken settling between them.
Her mother looked down at her hands. "You always used to draw pictures of things that didn't exist," she said quietly. "Castles in the sky. Doorways to nowhere. You'd fill entire notebooks with them. I didn't always understand why."
Evelyn's heart clenched, surprised by the turn.
"But when I saw them," her mother continued, "I used to wonder where those doorways would lead. What you were trying to find."
Evelyn swallowed. "Maybe I just wanted a place that felt like mine."
Her mother nodded once. A small, tired smile tugged at the edge of her lips. "You've always wanted to belong on your terms."
"I still do," Evelyn said.
Her mother didn't answer right away. Just reached across the table and lightly touched her hand.
"You don't make it easy for me," she said, voice quiet. "But I suppose that's the point."
Evelyn smiled, a little bittersweet. "I'm not trying to push you away. I just need you to let me stand."
They sat in silence for a while longer. The kettle clicked off in the background. Somewhere outside, a bird began to sing.
Later That Day
Evelyn stepped out into the backyard with a notebook in her hand. An old one—one she'd found buried under her high school sketchbooks last night. The edges were curled and some pages had faint water stains.
She flipped through drawings of imagined cities, impossible staircases, people with wings, and faceless creatures with kind eyes.
She smiled.
Her phone buzzed.
Adrian:
Hey. Just checking in. How's the kingdom holding up?
Evelyn:
One small revolution later, the queen and princess have negotiated a fragile truce.
Adrian:
Sounds like you.
Evelyn:
I told her the truth. And she didn't run. I think we're finally starting to understand each other. A little.
Adrian:
That's huge.
Evelyn:
Yeah. It is.
She took a deep breath and looked out at the fading afternoon. The garden was overgrown, but the light still reached through it like warmth.
She flipped to a fresh page in her notebook.
And began to draw again.