The one thing about having off the last few days that has made me feel somewhat good, is all the cleaning I've gotten done. It's like I live in a different house. I keep expecting to walk into a room and see the piles of papers and junk on that one chair. The chair that everyone denies they have. Mine is finally empty. Donation bags are piled by the door, and the trash cans are full to the max.

It's only one in the afternoon, so Anna is still at school. This is Jackson's last day home, after the weekend he can go back. He's been quiet today and hasn't left his room since breakfast. Every day he is tasked with schoolwork, and he's had two counseling sessions with the school psychologist. Every time I ask how they went he shrugs it off.

I toss my hair into a messy bun. I just spent the past half an hour vacuuming under my bed. Moving all the boxes and junk out to get each spot was like a workout. My jeans vibrate and I tug my cell from the back pocket. Lawson's name lights up the screen.

Lawson: 8 days, but who's counting? Not me.

It feels good to allow a little laughter back in. I lean against the door frame of my room, and stare down the hallway at Jackson's. My date with Lawson is about a week away and I'll admit I have butterflies in my stomach as if I was a teenage girl being asked out for the first time. I smile, but then the guilt eats away at my soul. Telling my kids that I'm going to go out with someone is harder than I thought.

The phone vibrates in my hand.

Lawson: How's everyone doing? The dad with the loud bass parked between us today. I turned back to wave and there he was.

I start typing back to him.

Me: #1 Can we try not to get locked in the bathroom on our date? #2 Kids are doing fine. Jackson's last official day is today, he returns Monday! Yay! My sister comes home Tuesday, and why does 8 days feel like such a long time? #3 You should have waved anyway, it would have confused him. LOL. He's usually behind me, vibrating my whole car.

"Mom?"

Jackson's voice catches me off guard. I lift my gaze from the phone over to him. The grin I'd felt tugging at my cheeks fades when I see the redness of his eyes. Slipping the phone back into my pocket, I catch something in Jackson's grasp.

"What's in your hand?" I ask.

His lips tremble. My son is crumbling right in front of me. He opens his hand showing me a man's golden wristwatch. I'd recognize it anywhere. Jackson had personally picked out the watch for his dad last Christmas. We spent hours upon hours shopping for it until he found just the right gift.

"He - he - he left it."

"Oh, Jacks."

I don't hesitate to pull the heartbroken boy into my arms and hold him while he sobs. For the first time in a very long time Jackson holds on so tight I think he might squeeze me to death. There's a thud behind me, and I twist just enough to see he's dropped the watch on the floor. Ignoring it I lower my head pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

"He said it was his fa-fa-favorite watch. Wa-why would he forget it?"

"He left in a rush, maybe he didn't realize it. Where did you find it?" I ask.

He pulls away only a little, then wipes his face with the back of his hand. "His old office. It was on the desk."

"Maybe he didn't mean to leave it."

I hate lying to Jackson. I don't know what my ex's real intentions were with the watch. If he left it behind so he wouldn't have something to remember us by, or if he truly forgot it.

"Can you send it to him?"

My heart nearly shatters at that moment. I want to say yes, but how can I? The man left us with zero ideas of where he'd gone. After we had signed everything, he disappeared, even blocked me from social media.

"Oh– I don't know, baby. I don't even know..."

Tears sting at the back of my eyes. The thought of reaching out to Miles again hurts more than I care to admit. It would take some digging and might open old wounds, but as I stare at my son, I know I have to try for him.

I bend to pick up the watch and clutch it in my hands.

"I can't guarantee I'll find him, nor can I guarantee he will want it. Jackson, I don't want to get your hopes up. I'm not sure where he is."

I honestly don't know what Miles feels towards the kids, but him signing over his rights kind of speaks for itself. If he wanted this watch, this life, he would have stayed, or maybe not stayed, but stuck around, seen his kids.

"Forget I asked then," he says, turning to leave.

"Jackson." I grab his arm and spin him back towards me. "He hurt all of us that day he left. I wish I could take away all the pain you are feeling."

I hate the tears that drown his face in sorrow, and the redness on his cheeks. He's too young to deal with hurt like this.

"Throw it out then," he sobs. "Just, throw it out!"

Jackson races to his room, slamming the door, leaving me with the abandoned watch and my own tears. I slide down the door frame and hug my legs when I hit the surface. The vibration of my phone hurts now that I'm sitting on it. I tug it from the pocket, waiting for Lawson's text about the dad with the loud truck to make me laugh, but it doesn't.

Me: Jackson found a watch he gave his dad for Christmas. I don't know what to do. I felt like we were taking several steps forward, this week was good, and now it just set us a million steps back.

The three bubbles pop up within seconds of pressing send. They dance, and dance some more. What is he typing a novel? I rest my head against the frame, closing my eyes to try and stop the impending sob stuck in my chest.

The phone buzzes and I expect it to stop, but instead it keeps buzzing. I put it to my ear.

"Hello?" I answer with a weak voice.

"Hey. Do you want some company? I'm in town at the music store, already out and about..."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"You're right. I'm sorry."

On the other end of the line a bell dings, and a rush of air follows.

"Don't be sorry."

I stare down at Jackson's door. Maybe I should check on him. Would that make him angrier? I have no idea. This is all so new to me. I feel like such a bad mom for allowing him to cry it out on his own, but what else can I do?

"How can I be there if he shuts me out?" I pause. "You know what, I take that back. I'm at 45 Thorne. I'll meet you out front."

The whooshing air on the other end becomes louder like he's running through a wind tunnel.

"On my way now. Okay?"

"Am I a bad mom for not knowing how to handle this? For relying on others like my sister. For using her to watch them, for begging for you to come here when I know I shouldn't."

The sob that I thought was under control comes creeping back up, and I stomp my foot out of frustration.

"Even if some don't admit it, we all need a little help sometimes. I mean look at me."

His engine roars to life, and I can already hear him driving.

"If you hadn't had those baby wipes, paper towels, and garbage bags that day I would have been lost. Don't feel bad for needing help. You're a single mom of two kids no one expects you to do this all by yourself."

I put the watch in my pocket and start heading down the hall. With how fast it sounds like he's driving he should be here any minute. Stopping at Jackson's door, I rest my hand on it and close my eyes.

"It feels like I'm asking for too much. I see all these moms at the school that always look so put together. They have their mom groups, their cliques, fancy makeup, and shoes. Their kids always come out of that building with a smile on their faces and look like they would never get into a fight."

"I'm here."

That really was fast. Reluctantly I let go of the door. When I get downstairs and make my way outside, he's already halfway up the cement walkway. I stop on the last step and lift my eyes to meet his. In three large strides he's by my side.

"I'm glad you aren't them. Those moms who are so put together that they can never do no wrong. That was my ex-wife. I don't think I could ever be with someone that was like her again."

His intense gaze has captured me and I'm frozen, unable to move.

"One thing about her that's so different from you is that she never would have stopped that day. Never would have gotten out of that car to help me. She would have been that asshole that beeped and sped away."

I'm a bit taller than usual, being that I'm standing on the bottom step. I reach his chin now. He closes the small space between us, resting his hands on my hips.

"What I'm saying is that, just because someone has their shit together it doesn't mean they are a good person. You are all going through a hard time right now."

I shiver from the way his thumbs gently caress my lower back.

"The man you made a vow to is no longer there to give you support, and your son is having a hard time because the man he's supposed to look up to left him high and dry. That's a lot on your plate and while your kids ultimately come first, you need to be happy too."

"Your mom was a saint..."

He chuckles. "She never had her shit together either. We ate fast food most nights of the week, but you know what, she loved me unconditionally, and after a while we were happy with things the way they were."

"I can't believe you dropped what you were doing to come over here. It's like you're not even real."

I lift a finger and tap his forehead lightly, as if I were testing that he wasn't a dream. His laughter is light, but there's a hint of something more serious in his eyes. He releases one hand from my hip to grab onto the hand I've lifted to touch him. They fall at our sides, our fingers intertwined.

"I'm real. And I know that look in your eyes. I'm not flawless, Nadine. Not by a long shot. I'm divorced because I poured myself into my passion more than my relationship with my wife. I pushed her away and because of that she hated my career, and everything about it."

"I get it." I lower my head. "I just wish I was some kind of super mom. I don't know how to talk to my own son."

"Did your parents know how to talk to you when you were growing up?"

I snort. Thinking back, he's right. At nine I'd gotten my period. By ten I was a raging hormonal pre-teen who wished her parents would leave her alone.

"Uh-oh I feel like there's a story behind that laugh."

My heart somehow feels a little less heavy.

"Not really. I was just a terrible teen. My parents could never understand the emo girl who thought the whole world was out to get her."

His laughter vibrates through me, and I swear he moves closer. There wasn't much space between us to begin with, now there's practically nothing.

"I'm imagining thirteen-year-old Nadine with a dark swooping side bang and a chunk of blonde in her hair listening to oh- I dunno Dashboard or some sappy shit like that."

Releasing one of my hands from his I mess up my hair a bit, pushing some to the side to make it look like a bang. He tucks the strand back into place. The calloused tips of his fingers graze my ear.

"Actually, it was the short spiky bob." I cringe. "And My Chemical Romance was my band of choice."

His hand lingers in the spot near my ear, and I lean into his touch. "It's nice to see you smile," he says.

"I'm not always so emo, I promise."

"I believe you."

His deep captivating voice makes me want to lean in ever so slightly and get a taste of his lips. Instead, I pull away. Knowing Jackson is somewhere on the other side of that door.

He closes his eyes as if he were contemplating it too. As tempting as it sounds, I'm not sure if I'm ready, but I can't stop staring at his pink desirable lips. The bottom one a little poutier than the top.

"Are you feeling any better now?" he asks.

"A little."

His eyes wander to the ground and widen. A soft playful grin settles on his lips, as he bends down beside the steps and picks something out of the grass. I furrow my brows at him.

"Here. For some luck."

I take what's in his hand. It's a small green clover with four leaves.

"What's that look for?" he asks.

"You– how did you – Anna and I have been looking for years and you just drive yourself over here, tell me I'm going to be okay, then somehow magically from this height find a four-leaf clover..."

I tap his forehead again. "Plastic. I knew it!"

He chuckles and without thinking wraps his arms around my center, pulling me in and lifting me off the step. I wrap my arms around his neck, holding the tiny clover tight in my hand so I don't drop it. The happy squeal that comes out of my mouth is unlike me. It's been so long since my cheeks have hurt from laughter that I'm a bit shaken up.

"Would plastic be able to do this?"

He lifts his chin and stretches his neck just a few tiny inches before resting his lips against mine. It's a simple kiss and over just as quickly as it started. He pulls away and catches my gaze like he's asking if that was okay.

"Guess that clover is lucky after all," I say, grinning.

He sets me down and kisses the top of my head. "Sorry, got caught up in you ... in the moment and I just..."

"I was worried about Jackson, but – but that... it felt really good."

His smile returns but does not reach his eyes. "Good. And maybe we can get caught up a little more on our date."

"I'm not opposed to that," I say.

"I should go though. I have practice in a little bit. Are you okay now?" he asks.

Looking down at my hand, I catch sight of the clover. It's a bit squished from how hard I held it, but it stills going strong. I know just the place for it.

"Yeah. I think I will be. Thank you again for coming over."

He starts backing away. "Of course. Call you later?"

I find myself running my hands through my hair and twisting the ends in a flirtatious manner.

"Can't wait."

Prompt #3 Something Left Behind