Maestro of Mine

So, today's the big 3-0. Yay... not exactly the most exciting milestone, if you ask me. I wake up to an empty bed because, surprise surprise, Cameron, my husband, has already dashed off to work. I guess I secretly hoped he'd remember my birthday this year and surprise me with something special. But let's be real, that's not his strong suit. More like a half-assed apology and some sad flowers from the supermarket when he finally realises what day it is, if he even remembers at all. He has a pretty good excuse for being too busy to remember my birthday - at the relatively young age of 32, he’s the CEO of the prestigious Manhattan Liberty Wealth Management Group, their youngest CEO ever. Still, recently I feel like he’s married to his job, and not to me. As I drag myself out of the covers, there's this mix of sadness, emptiness, and plain old tiredness weighing me down. It's like a cloud hanging over my head. I shuffle over to the mirror, like I do every day, to face the reality of how I look. It's become a little ritual of mine, checking for signs of ageing. Once upon a time, I had a petite figure, like those models you see in magazines. But now? Well, let's just say I'm a frumpy housewife who looks older than she should. My skin, once porcelain and pale, has lost its glow. And my hair? It used to be this beautiful cascade of dark silky waves that fell all the way down to my waist. But now it's shorter, barely reaching my shoulders. The sensible "mom" hairstyle, they call it. Oh, and let's not forget the greys sneaking their way in. Thanks, motherhood and the meds I take for my depression. They're doing wonders for my mental health, but not so much for my appearance. And recently I feel like they’re not working as well as they used to. Maybe it’s time to go back to my doctor and talk about upping my dosage. I run my hands over my face, feeling the faint beginnings of worry lines etched into my forehead. No amount of moisturiser seems to fill them. My once-soft cheeks now feel haggard and sunken yet slightly puffy and bloated,a result of the weight I've gained over the years. I used to have cheekbones, goddammit. Now all I see is fat and wrinkles. Looking at my reflection now, it’s hard to imagine that just a few years ago, I was pretty. I was never stunningly beautiful, but I was hot enough to catch the eye of several cute guys at college. I could take my pick - and I picked Cameron. What would that younger version of me think if she saw me now? She’d be so disappointed. I can't help but wonder, what the hell happened to me? I'm only thirty, but some days I feel like I've aged twice as much. I'm cold, tired, and worn out. The weight of this birthday, and all the ones that came before it, presses down on my shoulders. Cameron, oh Cameron. He once told me that as a stay-at-home mom, I should have all the time in the world to take care of myself. Ha! Three kids under five years old, and he thinks I've got time to exercise and cook healthy meals. Bless his clueless heart. Even with the help of Scarlett, our nanny, there's still so much to do. Bath time, bedtime routines, dinner for picky eaters, and a never-ending list of household chores. Scarlett used to be great, like a friend even. But lately, she's been crossing boundaries, telling me what the kids like and don't like as if I don't already know. It's like she thinks she knows better than me. And honestly, it's just another reminder of the disrespect I face every day. I hear a knock at the front door, and annoyance flickers within me. Scarlett. She's always punctual, I'll give her that. But her bossy attitude has been getting on my nerves. I should probably say something to her soon, but conflict has never been my strong suit. Pushing my negative feelings aside, I walk down the hallway. Today is a new day, and I want to fill it with happy thoughts and love for my kids. I take a deep breath and open the front door. There she is, Scarlett, with her bright smile and extra-large Starbucks coffee cup in hand. "Uh... are you doing okay this morning, Ashlyn?" Scarlett asks, frowning. "You look tired. Like, really tired." "Yeah, I'm fine," I say, trying to sound diplomatic and not let my annoyance seep through. "Just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, I guess." I step aside, allowing Scarlett to enter our home. The kids are still asleep, so she'll need to wake them up for school. She nods and smiles, passing by me with that youthful energy and vibrant aura. Despite everything, I'm grateful for her help. It's not easy raising three kids on my own, even with a nanny. Cameron was the one who insisted on hiring a nanny after I had the twins three years ago. At first, I was against the idea. I wanted to be there for my kids, to take care of them myself. But life had other plans. Now, Scarlett helps me keep things together while I navigate the chaos of motherhood. I push away the unhappy thoughts, trying not to dwell on my teetering marriage. I can't look upset in front of the kids. I have to put on a happy face. Scarlett and I walk into the kids' jungle-themed room, bursting with colours and joy. Sunlight streams through the curtains, casting a warm glow on my sleeping babies. Claire, my five-year-old daughter, stirs first, her chocolate brown eyes fluttering open groggily. "Morning, mommy," she sighs, and I give her a quick kiss on the forehead. She’s holding FunnyBunny, my favourite childhood plushie, tight against her chest. “Don’t leave out FunnyBunny!” Claire squeaks, holding the soft rabbit toy up to me. “She wants a kiss too.” “Good morning FunnyBunny, you sweet old thing,” I say, planting a kiss between the fuzzy fabric ears, before turning my attention to my boys. The twins, Chester and William, are curled up together in the other bed. As I reach for their covers, they protest and giggle, trying to hide deeper under the cozy blankets. "Time to get up, sweethearts," I murmur softly. "Don't you want to see all your friends at kindergarten?" "No!" William exclaims, grabbing the covers and tugging them back over themselves. They're always full of energy in the morning. "Don't worry, I've got this," Scarlett says, pushing past me and leaning over the twins' bed. "You go do your morning stuff, Ashlyn. You look like you need coffee." I fight back the harsh words that threaten to escape my lips. Being ordered around in my own home doesn't sit well with me, but I'll let it slide for now. I don't want to start the day with unnecessary tension. As I'm about to retreat, my phone buzzes with a message. It's from Cameron. My heart skips a beat as I open it up, hoping for a birthday surprise. What I see instead makes my jaw practically drop to the floor.