The stage lights gradually dim, as it offers a soft glow that washes over the eager crowd around me. The intermission seems to stretch on forever as I anxiously await Bottom Line to finally take the stage—the band that has consumed my life for the past six years. With my ears still ringing from the performances of the opening bands, the surrounding conversations turn to quiet murmurs as everyone tries to spot movement on the stage. I take this opportunity to edge myself closer to the stage as I gently place my hand on the backs of those I maneuver past, a silent gesture of respect, even though I'm getting through whether they like it or not.

In a matter of moments, the entire arena reverberates with the thundering sound of kick pedals, signaling that the band is gearing up to take the stage. Screams erupt suddenly from the crowd as they fill the air, creating an electric atmosphere that makes my heart beat uncontrollably.

"Are you guys ready?" the lead vocalist, Jax, shouts into the microphone with his beautiful Welsh accent, triggering more cheers from the crowd.

The rest of the Bottom Line band members rush out onto the stage, instantly synchronized, never missing a beat as they delve into their top-hit song, "Hit Me Where It Hurts." As Jax stands confidently at the microphone, his powerful voice fills the room, effortlessly delivering the flawless lyrics. His piercing gaze suddenly locks with mine, and with a subtle wink, it feels like the entire concert was just for me.

The abrupt blaring of my alarm startles me awake, feeling like my heart is going to burst right through my sternum. I place my hand on my palpitating chest—like that's enough to calm it down—and reach over to the nightstand with an overdramatic grunt to silence it. I have an hour to get myself and two kids ready for the day, but I can think of a million things I'd rather do right now—like go back to sleep and find out what actually happens after the performance for once. Instead, I have to get up and be an adult. What a bummer.

I reluctantly roll myself off the lumpy queen-sized mattress and mentally curse whoever thought it was a great idea to start the workday first thing in the morning. Dragging my feet along the cold, hardwood floor, I enter the living room to find Charlotte already sitting on the couch. Her hair looks like it's been brushed, so that's a start at least.

Slowly peering up from her coloring book, her eyes sparkle with pure joy. "Hi, Mommy! I'm coloring you a picture!" my six-year-old exclaims, holding up a picture of... a bear? Or maybe a dog?

"That's beautiful, baby! Thank you," I gush with as much enthusiasm as I can for how early it is. "Did you already brush your teeth?"

"Yeah!" She smiles wide to show me her pearly whites. It's not like I can tell from ten feet away, but I love her energy.

"Okay, I'm going to wake your sister. Your dad should be here soon."

When I reach the top of the stairs, I turn the handle slowly and say a silent prayer that today will be an easy morning and Lydia will perk right up and won't fight me about getting dressed. Wishful thinking and all.

Slowly entering the small room, I sit on the edge of her small, toddler-sized bed and gently rub circles on her back to wake her. "Good morning, Lydia. It's time to wake up," I say in a singsong way.

She grunts in response and rolls her small body towards me, shoving her face into the side of my leg. Laying my hand on her head to smooth her hair down, I lean down to whisper in her ear, "trust me, I know. Mommy didn't want to get up either."

Slowly sitting up in the bed, her strawberry blonde ringlets stick to one side of her face while she rubs her tired blue eyes. She watches me gather her outfit for the day with a pout. but at least there are no tears yet.

My silent prayer fails and after a wrestling match with a strong three-year-old—who doesn't understand she does indeed need pants to go to her father's—she's finally ready. Deciding that today I don't care if she wears polka dot pants with her striped top, so long as she has clothes on. I swiftly place her on my hip and carefully descend the stairs, navigating around the scattered toys in the hallway from the night before.

Placing Lydia on the couch beside Charlotte, I steal a glance at the clock on the wall, hoping I have plenty of time for a hot shower before I have to leave. Reading the time as it mocks me with black numbers reading 7:28 AM, I mutter under my breath, "Shit!" Now I have less than fifteen minutes to be ready for work, and that's if Trevor picks the girls up on time for a change. Suddenly setting my alarm later than usual feels like a huge regret, but I needed that extra half an hour of sleep after dealing with Lydia's restlessness all hours of the night.

"Lottie, can you sit with Lydia while I change and get ready?" I ask, even though they both have their eyes glued on the television already, anyway.

She gives me an enthusiastic nod and leans back against the couch, inviting her sister to snuggle close. My heart swells while I watch them together. Their bonds have been unbreakable from the moment I brought Lydia home from the hospital. Charlotte always insisted she was "her baby".

I back up slowly to retreat to my bedroom and pull out a pair of sleek black scrubs to throw them on as quickly as I can with my lack of energy. While standing in front of my body-length mirror, I throw my long red hair into a messy bun atop my head and tuck my top into my pants, hoping to conceal the "mom pouch" I've yet to lose. Thankfully, my work attire is essentially slimming pajamas. It helps with how self conscious I've been since having children.

I pull my bedroom door open and stop in my tracks when I see Trevor kneeling by the door, hugging Charlotte tightly. I wish he would ring the doorbell, or even knock before just waltzing in, but that's a conversation for another day.

"Mom, look! Daddy's here!" Charlotte's voice echoes through the room.

Stepping deeper into the living room, I cross my arms at my chest and smile at Charlotte. "Why don't you go help Lydia put on her shoes?" I ask her.

Taking another glance at the clock, my face heats with anger to see it's already 8:02 AM. I am officially late for work, which makes for a fantastic Monday. The pure need to reem him out right now is overwhelming, but what good would that do? It would definitely feel satisfying, but it wouldn't resolve anything, unfortunately.

Charlotte's face lights up as she exclaims, "yes! Come on, Lydia!"

I watch them disappear upstairs before allowing my face to lose the fake happy look.

"Good morning, Allie," Trevor greets as he stands in the doorway, his hand running through his shaggy blonde hair.

Ignoring his greeting, I walk toward the shoe rack, trying to avoid eye contact with him because right now I don't want to have a conversation. What I want is to get to work. Grabbing a pair of black clogs from the top shelf, I place one hand on the wall to steady myself as I slip one shoe on at a time.

"Sorry I'm late. I had a late night," he says while taking a seat on the back of my navy blue sofa.

I blatantly roll my eyes while I grab my car keys hanging on the wall. Not only is he sitting on the back of the couch, but he thinks he had a long night? He's been late every single day for the last two months—and not just five minutes. He's been well over half an hour late each time. 

"You're having a lot of late nights lately," I murmur. Not meaning for him to actually hear me.

He scoffs with a shake of his head before he replies, "why couldn't Ana just come down and watch them?"

My eyebrows furrow while I take a deep breath and close my eyes, trying to count to ten. If I murder him right now, I will be away from my girls until they graduate high school. Although, I could catch up on sleep and get three scheduled meals a day. Seems almost worth it to me.

"The girls are not Ana's responsibility in the morning, Trevor. You said you'd be here at 7:30 and then you drop them off with Ana for an hour before I get home," I retort.

"You're right. I'm sorry," he says, holding his hands up in defeat. "Am I still taking them in July and half of August?"

"I thought so. Did something come up?" I question. My stomach drops with disappointment at the thought. I already have a four-week vacation planned in Boston with Ana and our friend Nora, plus I have the time off approved, so I sure hope we're still on.

"No, I just wanted to make sure since we've been going back and forth on it for a while and it's two weeks away."

Of course we went back and forth on it. What does he expect? I haven't been away from my girls for an extended period of time... ever. Given his lack of involvement as a parent when we were together, I'm nervous about the idea, but it was the best we could come up with before allowing a judge to make the decision for us.

Before I can say anything to that, Charlotte descends the stairs and announces, "we're ready!" as she and Lydia run up to their father.

"Bye, girls. Be good for Dad," I say before placing a kiss on top of Charlotte's head.

Following them outside, I quickly jump into the driver's seat of my SUV, connect my phone to the car's Bluetooth system, and crank up the music to drown out my thoughts with the heaviest music I can find. Mornings like this remind me exactly why Trevor and I didn't last like I had once hoped. I need someone dependable, someone who will show me I'm not alone in this world, and he just can't do that. Even when we were together, he never showed up to the point Charlotte's pediatrician thought I was a single mom until she was three years old.

I flip down the visor and stare at my tired reflection in the mirror. "There's only two more weeks until you're on vacation, Allie. You'll be in Boston with your best friends, living it up in the city, and you'll be the one relaxing for once. Hang in there," I say confidently. Hoping if I say the words out loud, I'll actually believe them.

I close the mirror and hope to God my boss doesn't have my head about being late this morning. She's been nothing but supportive, but being tardy is something I don't like to make a habit of. But what can you do?

After working an eight-hour shift, I pull into my driveway and linger in my car to hear nothing but the music playing through my speakers, letting it take me away for a little longer before returning to reality. This bittersweet ritual has become my favorite part of the day. It's a much-needed break from juggling single motherhood with two kids, not to mention working in the demanding healthcare field. Thankfully, my boss barely noticed I was late today.

I know I shouldn't stay out here too long, knowing my children must have had a field day once again in the living room, but I can't help but get lost in the thoughts I can finally hear. I reluctantly remove my keys from the ignition and drag my feet to the front door while I take one last breath of fresh, quiet air and open the front door slowly.

"You're home! Can I have a snack?" Charlotte greets. Her energy level is already too much for my growing headache.

"Lottie, I haven't even shut the door yet," I say exhaustedly, slouching my shoulders.

Can there be one day when I can walk into my house without being bombarded with questions before even closing the door?

"Sorry..." she says, waiting for me to shut the door so she can ask again.

"It's okay, baby," I say while removing my shoes. "Did you already ask Ana for a snack?"

She looks at me with wide eyes and tries to hide her growing smile and nods slowly. "She said not right now."

"Then what do you think Mommy's going to say?" I ask, raising one eyebrow at her.

"Ugh," she huffs and turns to plops herself on the couch face first dramatically.

After putting my shoes on the rack, I take in my surroundings and suddenly wish I had lingered in the car a little longer. It looks as though a tornado has gone through my entire living room for the past few hours, with toys scattered throughout every inch of the floor. This is the exhausting part of being a parent nobody wants to talk about. Coming home after a long day of work to a house resembling the aftermath of a full-on war zone, but too tired to tend to it right away. I'm grateful for the help that I have from Ana, but she knows there's no point in cleaning up while the kids are awake. They're only going to destroy it again in a fraction of a second.

I make my way to the kitchen when the comforting aroma of my favorite Mexican soup wafts through the air. The perfect combination of taco meat and tomato sauce makes my mouth water the second I enter the room.

"Sopita for dinner?" I ask while rubbing my palms together eagerly.

"Well, duh, it's Monday. Monday is for Sopita and Ramsay," she says matter-of-factly, stirring the soup as it simmers on the stove. "It's done if you want to have the girls come in."

I open the cabinet, pull out four bowls, and set them on the counter while I shout, "girls! Come and eat, please!"

Charlotte and Lydia immediately bolt into the kitchen and take their seat at the table as if they haven't eaten before. I shake my head with a soft chuckle while I place the bowls in front of them and take a seat beside them.

When the girls are no longer eating and instead playing with their food, I remove their utensils and head towards the sink.

"Alright, girls, it's time for bed. Go brush your teeth, please," I request while loading dishes into the dishwasher.

The girls quickly rise from the table and head into the bathroom to begin their bedtime routine. I hold off rinsing the next bowl momentarily to listen closely for the sink to sound on the other side of the bathroom door. It's been my reliable signal the girls are indeed brushing their teeth. Once it's heard, I smile to myself while thinking how grateful I am for my daughters' independence, and how much it takes a load off my shoulders.

I kiss the girls goodnight before they trudge up the stairs to their rooms, watching until I hear their doors click shut. I mentally knock on wood at how easy tonight was for bedtime and pray they actually stay in bed tonight.

"Hopefully they actually stay in bed tonight," Ana chuckles. She sits on the couch with the television remote in her hand, ready to put our beloved show on.

My eyes widen when I turn around and look at her with a look of disbelief. "I was just thinking that to myself," I chuckle.

"Same brain," she winks. "Come on. It's time for Ramsay," she says while patting the cushion beside her.

I take my cell phone out of my back pocket and plop on the couch, letting my feet rest on the coffee table for once. After today, I deserve to break my own rules for how long it felt and how much my feet are killing me.

As soon as I hit the cushion, my phone vibrates with an e-mail notification. Flipping it over to check, my heart rate gradually spikes with excitement.

TicketHub: Bottom Line NEW SHOW ADDED IN WORCESTER On Sale Now!

"No way!" I shout. Immediately covering my mouth, I hope my yelling doesn't trigger the girls to come downstairs.

Ana drops her spoon into her bowl before she turns to face me. "What?" she asks loudly while covering her mouth.

"Bottom Line added a stop to their tour!" I exclaim, still scrolling through the information.

"Who?" she asks, completely dumbfounded.

"Bottom Line?" I repeat, my eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"Oh?" 

"Jax Owens." Trying to hide my growing smile, I fail miserably.

"Oh! The British dude with the biceps you're always drooling over," she teases with a wink.

"Shut up!" I immediately blush, playfully swatting at her arm. "It's the day after we arrive in Boston and they're offering meet-and-greet passes, too! Oh, and for your information, they're from Wales, not England," I remind her playfully.

"The itinerary doesn't start until the week after anyway, so get them before they sell out!" she says, gesturing toward the phone.

I quickly secure three tickets successfully, my heart feeling like it's going to explode right out of my chest. My smile increases by the second when I think of all the hours I've spent listening to their music and how much their lyrics have resonated with me for the last few years. I can't believe I'm going to meet Bottom Line. This vacation just got a lot more exciting.