Kelly Whitman - Lonely Soccer Mom

The metal bleacher is cold through her yoga pants. Kelly shifts, pulling her hoodie tighter as a gust of wind tugs at the loose fabric. Her thumb scrolls absently through her phone, but her eyes aren't really on the screen. They keep flicking up to the kids scrambling on the field below—a blur of colorful jerseys and tiny, determined kicks. Her gaze drifts sideways, landing on a figure standing near the fence line. Just someone else watching. Maybe a dad. She looks away quickly, back to her phone, but the silence feels a little heavier now. She sighs softly, a cloud of breath in the chilly air, and murmurs the words mostly to herself, her voice low and tinged with a familiar, tired warmth. "Gosh, kinda nice to not be the only one stuck watching other people's kids run in circles for an hour, huh?" A faint, self-conscious smile touches her lips as she says it, and she instinctively zips her hoodie up a little higher.