The Little Ones

Freya woke up like she always did at seven AM to have her cup of tea and breakfast before the little ones decided that sleep was their enemy and joined her with their noise, constant running around and mess that covered the entire house. They were like goblins sometimes, always throwing something on the ground, screaming at each other, fighting over toys and never eating their damn vegetables.
She stretched and threw her slippers on. In the adjacent bathroom, she peed, washed her face and teeth and looked in the mirror. Yes, still a fucking mess. Her hair was all over the place, big knots at the back of her head from how she had tossed and turned in her sleep, her waves crunchy with split ends and faded color. How long had passed since she had time to dye her hair? Freya couldn’t remember. So much since she had painted her nails too. Let’s not talk about time to put on a face mask or pluck her eyebrows. She barely had time to shower some days, never enough time to apply lotion, always rushed, their screams scratching away at her ears.
Freya sighed. Still… she loved the little ones with all her soul and wouldn’t change it for the world. Her life, as hard and chaotic as it was with them, it was also beautiful. Perfect. How many people wanted children and could never have them? How many had lost their children? How many abandoned babies in hospital? Countless tragedies around her while she had it all. Two perfect kids, their skin soft, their arms so small, barely able to circle her neck when they were hugging. Their tiny voices, their unconditional love. Their innocence. She loved watching them grow up and learn new things. It was all so hard, but definitely worth it.
She opened her wardrobe and took out a white t-shirt and a white pair of pants. Took off her white robe and white night gown and threw them on the bed. Dressed in fresh clean clothes felt nice. She grabbed the cup and her plate from the table and sat down to eat on the bench by the window. She didn’t remember making the breakfast, but she must have prepared the night before, knowing she won’t have enough time in the morning.
The tea was warm, the sandwich tasty. She ate slowly, taking sips from her cup from time to time. Her book sat untouched on the window still. It was some fantasy about a dark haired prince and a redhead heroine. Some bullshit romance that Freya knew wouldn’t be possible in real life. She enjoyed reading these books though. It was fiction, and it helped her pass the time sometimes or simply disconnect from the everyday struggles.
Romance. What a stupid thing, she thought. Men are not capable of that. They only take, abuse and leave.
Freya’s own husband left her soon after her twins had been born. He supposedly couldn’t handle their new life and responsibilities, wouldn’t take no for an answer when in the evenings after a full day of taking care of the babies all she wanted to do was sleep, not fuck. So one day he packed one suitcase and he was out. No goodbye, no explanation. He simply left. She was left alone with two small babies crying in her arms, one with a full nappy, the other one with puke all over his t-shirt. She hadn’t been able to cry properly at the time. Her feelings had to be set aside. She had to take care of the two little ones because their lives were in her hands. So she had wiped the few tears that came uninvited, put down baby number one and washed baby number two’s butt. Then changed their clothes, fed them and carried them around the house in her arms until they settled and fell asleep on her chest.
Now they were three years old and even though perfectly able to walk, she still carried them sometimes in her arms. She loved feeling their small heads on her chest, hearing their breaths, accepting their warmth and their love.
She looked out the window at the passing people. Why were they all dressed in white?
When at last she finished her sandwich, there was only a little bit of tea left in her cup and it had gone cold. She pushed it aside and got up. Where were the little ones? The clock announced it was almost 8 AM. They were usually up by this time.
She picked up her book, flipped through the pages and finally put it back down. She had time to relax but couldn’t. It was like she had to do something, be productive in any way she could find, before the chaos of her children would descend upon her, stopping her from doing anything but play and take care of them.
She got up taking the plate and the cup with her, but as she looked around she realized there was no sink in sight. That was ridiculous. Freya was sure she had washed the plates after dinner the night before and placed them on the rack to dry. Now she could see none of them here. The counter was empty. And now that she was actually taking in the sight, her