Saturdays Used to Be Ours

Saturdays used to be my favorite days.

Back when my daughters and I were together, Saturdays meant noisy mornings, pancakes on the table, and cartoons playing in the background while we laughed about the silliest things. They would run around the house, hair messy and faces full of joy, and I would just sit there watching them, thinking, This is happiness.

Saturdays used to be about trips to the mall, grocery runs that always ended with extra snacks in the cart, or lazy afternoons curled up on the couch. Sometimes we would go out for a walk, sometimes we’d just stay home and talk about everything and nothing, or watch mushy soaps and cry together.

But life changed. They had to leave and I had to stay here. I had to work far away from them so I could give them a better future. Now, Saturdays feel different. They are quiet. Too quiet. No little voices calling for me, no giggles echoing through the room.

I still wake up on Saturdays wishing I could be there to cook them breakfast, braid their hair, and listen to their stories right beside them. Instead, I reach for my phone, hoping for that one chat or call that makes the distance a little easier to bear. Some days, it never comes. Maybe they forget, or maybe they’re busy with friends, already living and enjoying the lives I’ve worked so hard to give them. And even though it stings, I remind myself that this is why I’m here - so they can grow freely, be happy, and not have to need me the way they once did.

Saturdays always remind me of why I keep going. They carry with them the weight of love, of sacrifice, and of every moment I’ve had to miss so that my daughters won’t have to.
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One day, I know Saturdays will be ours again. And when that day finally comes, I’ll hold them tight, make all the pancakes they can eat, and cherish every second - never taking a single Saturday for granted.