A Morning Like Any Other

The warm sunlight streaming through the kitchen window highlighted the tired lines on my mother's face as she poured herself a cup of coffee. I watched her, my eyes half-focused, as she added a spoonful of sugar and stirred it in with a weary hand. The breakfast table was a simple affair: a Formica top, a few scratches and scuffs from years of use, and two chairs that seemed to be holding on by sheer force of habit. It was a fixture in our small apartment, a constant presence in our lives. Hannah, my mother, looked up and caught my eye, offering a faint smile. "Morning, kiddo," she said, her voice husky from lack of sleep. I grunted a reply, my own eyes still half-closed as I reached for the cereal box. My mother worked two jobs, sometimes three, just to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. I'd grown used to seeing her rush out the door in the morning, briefcase in hand, and not returning until late at night, exhausted. She'd always been a hard worker, but it seemed like the world was stacked against her. Becoming pregnant with me in high school had thrown her life off track, and she'd struggled to get back on course. As I poured myself a bowl of cereal, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. I knew she did it all for me, to give me a better life. But sometimes I wondered if I was worth it. Was I a burden, a constant reminder of the choices she'd made and the path not taken? The cereal milk swirled in the bowl, a soggy mess that I attacked with a spoon. My mother sat across from me, sipping her coffee and watching me with a look of quiet contentment. For a moment, we just sat there, the only sound the clinking of spoons on bowls and the hum of the refrigerator in the background. "You got a big day today?" she asked, setting her cup down. I shrugged, my mouth full. "Just school, I guess." She nodded, her eyes clouding over with worry. "You're doing okay, right? You're not having any trouble with your classes or anything?" I shook my head, feeling a pang of frustration. Why did she always have to ask? Didn't she trust me? "I'm fine, Mom. Really." She sighed, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her responsibilities. I could see the exhaustion etched on her face, the lines deepening as she aged. Sometimes I felt like I was losing her, like she was slipping away from me and I couldn't do anything to stop it. The alarm clock on the wall suddenly sprang to life, shattering the quiet morning moment. My mother's eyes flicked towards it, and she stood up, grabbing her bag and keys. "Time for me to go," she said, her voice firm but laced with regret. I nodded, feeling a pang of sadness. Another day, another dollar, another step further away from the life we'd once imagined. But as she leaned down to kiss me goodbye, I knew that I loved her, no matter what. And I'd do whatever it took to make her proud.