Paper is nothing more than a weapon in disguise, Anna Johnson thought sourly.

“Boys, you have got to stop throwing paper airplanes and finish your breakfast.”

“But we have to practice now, Mom,” James piped up around a bite of sugar-fueled cereal, “’cause we aren’t allowed to make them at school.” Mark nodded enthusiastically to show solidarity with his brother. Anna rolled her eyes and chugged the last of her coffee as her father walked into the kitchen.

“Why the long face, sweetheart? You look like you swallowed a lemon.” He winked at the two boys when they broke out in giggles, then kissed her on the cheek.

“Your grandsons have turned my kitchen into a war zone of pointy-tipped papercuts waiting to happen.”

Tony reached down to pluck up a handful of the homemade toys from the floor. “You boys have gotten better! These look much sturdier than the ones you were making yesterday, bet they glide better, too.”

Anna narrowed her eyes at her father, then at the remaining paper paraphernalia littering the floor. “I was trying to get them to finish their breakfast, Dad, not encourage them to waste school supplies on paper footballs and airplanes. Boys, go brush your teeth before the bus gets here.”

Upending a stool, they each fought to be the first out of the room. Tony loudly sighed as he stood the furniture back up and lowered his brows at her. “What bee got under your bonnet this morning? A bad temper is its own scourge, you know.”

Anna gritted her teeth and ignored the jab as she picked up the cereal bowls to wipe down the counter. This subject had become a familiar refrain between father and daughter, one she was getting tired of. “I have to get the boys’ lunches ready, then put them on the bus. Please not now, Dad.” She sounded like a whining two-year-old, even to her own ears.

Tony reached into the refrigerator to pull out juice boxes and carrot sticks while Anna grabbed sandwich supplies from the pantry. The two were quiet as they worked in tandem to get three lunches packed efficiently into paper bags. Anna snatched up the bag with her name and purse, trying to make a beeline for the door when her father leaned against the kitchen island and frowned at her.

“What is going on with you, honey? You have been short-tempered with the boys, distracted, and downright grouchy lately, even on the best of days.”

“Gee, thanks.” Anna glanced at the doorway longingly. “Want to comment on my outfit, too?” 

Her father had the grace not to take the bait. “Anything that goes on in this house these days brings that harried look to your face. You’ve been a real Debbie Downer for quite some time now and I have had about enough.” He crossed his arms over his chest and gave a short nod as if to emphasize that he no longer would be putting up with her mood swings.

“Daaaad”—Anna rubbed her forehead to try and stave off the headache she already knew was coming—“Can we please save your lecture for this evening? I really do have to go.” She glanced at her watch for good measure. Tony’s humph was as good as a no. She plopped her bottom forcefully onto Mark’s recently discarded breakfast stool. “Okay, then, let’s have it.” She waved her hand dramatically as if to signal a firing squad. Goodness knew it would be a quicker solution than this conversation.

Her father’s face softened as he leaned his elbows on the countertop. Even when annoyed by his interference in her life, she had to admit that he was still a handsome man. He had crow’s feet and a sprinkle of freckles but a strong jaw and sky-blue eyes.

“Anna, sweetheart, it has been almost three years since Adam died. Maybe it’s about time…”

Anna winced as her heart clenched, then she straightened her spine resolutely. “I know how long it’s been, Dad. Please spare me the it’s been long enough dialogue this go-round. You wanted me to have help here at home. I appreciate that you moved in to watch over James and Mark. Plus, you took over the yard work. You wanted me to go out on a date. I went on three! I went back to work at your suggestion. I have done all the things you said I should.” Throwing her hands into the air, she asked forcefully, “Isn’t that enough?”

“Not if you aren’t happy, Anna.” Clasping her hands between his much larger ones, he told her gently, “You’re a wonderful mother, but you should have a life that doesn’t revolve around the boys or your job. Or”—he bopped the end of her nose with his fingertip—“your retired widow father. Get a hobby or something.”

A hobby? Right! If it were that easy to find the tangible puzzle piece that she knew her life was missing, she would have done it already. Anna tried to find a way to explain why she had felt off-kilter lately, but she was at a loss. What was it she needed to be happy, herself? Why did her life feel as if she wasn’t fully living? Her boys were getting more independent by the day, and she had felt afloat for a bit because they no longer needed her the way they had right after Adam’s accident, but that wasn’t it entirely. Her job filled her days, but it didn’t fill her soul. No, she thought dejectedly, there’s a big question mark on what it is that I need in my life.