When we got to her preschool, I spoke to her teachers. They listened, nodded, and assured me they’d keep the two kids apart in the room as much as possible. But there wasn’t much more they could promise.
Even after I kissed her goodbye, Evie’s fear stayed with me.
As I tried to focus at work and repair the mess I’d made of our codebase, I felt that maybe I’d never quite be enough at being a parent or a reliable coder.
When I finally fixed the problem, a simple typo in my code that had taken two hours to debug, I took a breath and sat back. Stacey had made a comment about costing them valuable hours, but then she let it go.
I looked at my phone, which had been quiet all morning, and I texted Jonah at the number he’d called me from last night.
LEXI
Thank you for the toy. Evie absolutely loves it.
I stared at the screen for a second, and then added another line.
LEXI
You didn’t have to do that.
His reply came quicker than I’d expected.
JONAH
I excel at doing things I’m not supposed to do, Lexi.
I let out a short breath and gave a small laugh. Of course he did.
For the next hour, I couldn’t stop thinking about what else he was good at doing that he wasn’t supposed to.
20
LEXI
The first few weeks at my new job had been rough, but I was finally finding my rhythm. I was starting to understand how the codebase was stitched together, who to go to when I hit a wall, and how the team liked to communicate. They were big on e-mails over meetings, so I adjusted, jotting down my questions, grouping them, and reaching out to the people who could help me most.
The constant back-and-forth wasn’t the most efficient use of time, but since it was how things got done here, I adapted.
Bit by bit, I was figuring things out, even if it felt like no one around noticed or appreciated what I did.
Was that the work culture here? To criticize, but never praise?
It was a little after six p.m. on a Thursday on my third week here, when I picked up Evie from her preschool and brought her back to my office, hoping to finish the last of my work while she played on the floor next to me.
My attention flickered between the figures on my screen and Evie. In the corner of my eye, she played quietly with her dolls, their soft babble a comforting backdrop.
My phone beeped with a text message, a request from Mom for money. I read it and typed out a hurried response that I couldn’t help right now, then put my phone back down.
I tried to focus on work again, but a sudden silence fell over my cubicle. The absence of Evie’s soft chatter made my head snap to the side, my eyes scanning the small space. The dolls lay on the floor, and the spot where Evie had been sitting was empty. Even her backpack was missing.
Fear raced through me as I shot to my feet and ran out onto the floor. The entire office was eerie and silent, and my heart sank. Where could she be?
I sprinted toward the elevator to see if she’d wandered there. But the elevator’s doors were open, the car inside empty.
My heart was in my throat as panic seized me. Since the floor was structured like a big square with the elevator banks in the middle, I raced around the corner, checking everywhere. “Evie?” I called out, met only with my own echo.
My heart pounded as I frantically searched under desks and in meeting rooms for any sign of my daughter.
“Evie!” My voice cracked with fear and desperation.
