Young people are efficient. Garden drove Jolene and Emma to IKEA.
Since he was being so helpful, Jolene didn’t hold back. She’d originally planned to save money, but it looked like that wasn’t happening. She picked out a desk and chair set to put in the living room for writing, and also bought a rug so the little one could sit on the floor and play.
She chose a few potted succulents for the windowsill and let Emma pick out a plant she liked herself.
Emma was especially fascinated by the Venus flytrap. She even tried sticking her finger in, and when the trap slowly closed, her eyes lit up with wonder. She looked at her mom excitedly—her desire to buy it was written all over her face.
Jolene put the Venus flytrap in the cart, then spotted a mimosa plant and asked Emma if she wanted that too.
Like the flytrap, mimosa leaves would quickly close when touched—pretty cool. Jolene grabbed one as well, thinking kids loved watching plants grow. She used to buy seeds and soil online to grow her own when she lived alone.
So Jolene grabbed some flower pots, plus morning glory and sunflower seeds. She wasn’t sure if she could grow them, but she’d give it a try.
Since the furniture store delivered, and she was already on a roll, her shopping urge kicked in—forgetting she wasn’t a single woman with no dependents anymore. Feeling impulsive, she thought about getting some fish for the apartment.
She asked Garden if he knew where to buy ornamental fish, her eyes sparkling like a curious kid.
Yes—in her past life, she’d bought little turtles, goldfish, and bunnies from a street vendor near her apartment. She hadn’t seen any of that here yet.
With her own home now, Jolene’s suppressed shopping desires were starting to stir.
Seeing her so energetic, Garden laughed and took mother and daughter to a nearby pet store chain.
They had some goldfish for sale—not many varieties. Jolene, worried they might be expensive, asked the store owner about the price upfront.
“Under 10 fish, it’s 29 cents each. Over 10, it’s 10 cents each,” the owner said simply.
Jolene: “…”
She hadn’t expected them to be that cheap. She glanced down at Emma, signaling her to pick the ones she liked.
The selection wasn’t huge, but Emma was thrilled. Ever since moving to New York, her mom had been letting her choose things on her own. Everything felt different now.
Back at Ben’s house, Emma had always been well-behaved—she’d only say she wanted something when her mom explicitly told her she could. And even then, it wasn’t as carefree, because Ben might get upset.
Now it was just the two of them. Emma had her own cabinet, her own plants, and her mom told her she could grow flowers and raise fish all by herself.
While Emma picked out fish, Jolene found herself looking at the kittens and puppies. In her past life, she’d owned both dogs and cats. If she were alone and her writing career was steady, she’d definitely buy both.
But she wasn’t sure if Emma might be allergic to cats. Pet food was expensive too. Dogs needed daily walks at set times, cats needed litter, and her budget was already tight. Just raising one daughter was stretching her thin…
“Mommy, what are you looking at?” Emma had already netted her chosen fish into the tank and noticed her mom staring at the pets.
“Nothing,” Jolene said, shaking her head, then crouched down to look at the lively little fish. “All done picking? These are your new friends now—you’ll have to take good care of them.”
Emma’s eyes sparkled, and she flashed a row of neat baby teeth. “I know, Mommy. I’ll take good care of them.”
Jolene pulled herself back. Keeping fish was fine—watching them was good for your eyes and gave the kid a sense of responsibility.
Garden stood by, amused, watching the mother-daughter duo. At first, he’d thought Jolene was just an office worker like him who wrote on the side. When he learned she was a single mom, he’d been impressed—picturing her as a woman in her 30s raising a kid alone.
Now that they’d met in person, he realized she was so young. And mother and daughter looked so alike—same cute turned-up noses, same hair color, same eye color. If you didn’t know, you’d think they were sisters.
Jolene looked at Emma with satisfaction. Compared to when they’d first met, the kid smiled so much more now. Her face had filled out a bit—she wasn’t so skinny anymore. It felt great raising a daughter; the sense of accomplishment was real.
She gently pinched Emma’s cheek, making her eyes look even bigger. Jolene smiled, stood up with the fish tank, and headed to the checkout.
They left the pet store, and Jolene was really grateful to Garden. She hadn’t expected her editor to be such a good friend.
“Garden, let me treat you to dinner.” Jolene pressed her lips together, a little embarrassed—she couldn’t think of any other way to repay him.
Garden didn’t refuse, since it was already late and none of them had eaten.
They didn’t overthink it—there was a well-known steakhouse near her place, newly opened. She glanced at the prices: $15 for a burger. That was really expensive.
But Jolene hated owing favors. After this meal, she’d have to cook at home every day and write as much as possible to make ends meet.
When she got up to pay, she found that Garden had already taken care of the bill.
Jolene: “Wasn’t I supposed to treat?”
Garden shook his head. “Another time. You’ve got a daughter to raise, and you just moved from San Francisco—you’ve probably spent a lot lately.”
Jolene paused for a moment. There really were good people in the world.
“Alright. When I’m richer, I’ll treat you,” she said with a smile.
After dropping them off at home, Garden drove off.
In her past life, Jolene never had a driver’s license—she didn’t work and didn’t need to drive. Plus, everyone said self-driving cars were just around the corner, so she never bothered to learn.
Now she realized there was no such thing as an unnecessary skill. Not being able to drive was a hassle everywhere. The original owner did have a license, but there was no way Jolene was driving with it—she’d be a menace on the road.
Shaking off the thought, mother and daughter settled into their one-bedroom, tidied up, washed up, and slept comfortably.
The next day, the delivery people brought the desk and set it up in the living room. Jolene was thrilled—this was now her office. Writing was her job, and she’d clock in on her own.
Battery Park City public school let out at 3:00 PM, which Jolene loved. And their approval process was fast.
Tuesday morning, she dropped Emma off at the nearby public elementary school.
To her surprise, the school didn’t require uniforms—especially for kindergarteners; they just had to dress neatly.
Perfect—Emma could wear the fall clothes they’d already bought.
Jolene was a little overwhelmed. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to buy clothes for her kid—it was that providing for a family made her realize money went everywhere.
But she definitely needed to buy Emma clothes. Without uniforms, she couldn’t let her kid get shown up by others. Even if Emma didn’t say anything, kids could be mean.
And the families around Battery Park were well-off. Emma was only five and didn’t understand these things yet, but Jolene worried that over time, she might feel inferior.
You really don’t know what it’s like until you’re raising a kid—every little thing needs attention, especially when the kid is as well-behaved as Emma.
On her first day, Jolene got up early and made simple rice balls—just seaweed and rice stuffed with veggies and ham. She also packed blueberries from the supermarket downstairs and a bottle of apple juice.
After dropping Emma off, Jolene had the whole day to herself. She immediately pulled out her notebook, sat down in the living room, and started writing.
Her second book was out, so it was time to start the third. Jolene planned to stick with the single-mom theme and solidify that image.
But then she thought about her friends from the support group. She’d once considered writing a novel about alcoholism.
Those were real experiences—she’d heard so many genuine stories from them, and those were ready-made material, full of authenticity. Of course, fiction was still an artistic take on reality.
Soon, she started outlining her third novel:
The female lead, Lindsay, is 32. She has a happy family and a lovely daughter. She used to be a creative director at a New York ad agency with a bright future—but after her husband became abusive, she turned to alcohol to numb the pain. Gradually, she developed an addiction. In the end, alcohol became her sleeping pill—she couldn’t fall asleep without it.
Once beautiful and polished, she now suffered memory loss, dull eyes, and made mistakes at work. She was fired. Her husband divorced her and easily won custody of their daughter.
Lindsay lost her job, her friends drifted away, and she was evicted for not paying rent.
One morning, she woke up on the street—she’d slept on the curb all night. Looking at the homeless people in tents around her—whom she’d once mocked—she realized she’d become exactly what she used to despise.
Her last shred of rationality led her to reach out to an anonymous support group.
Leave a Reply