Abby notices. I see her swallow, see the wall go up.
And I know, with bone-deep certainty, that showing up is the easy part.
Staying is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
Kids are being herded back into line. Teachers murmur thank-yous. Someone knocks over a chair and apologizes too loudly. Abby is busy collecting permission slips and half-folded papers, her focus deliberately elsewhere.
Daisy tugs on my sleeve.
“Brendon?”
I glance down. “Yeah, kiddo?”
She holds up her notebook, fingers smudged with pencil graphite. “I have one more question for my project.”
“Okay,” I say, dropping into a crouch so we’re eye level. “Hit me.”
She lowers her voice, like this is serious business. “Heroes don’t just save people once, right?”
Something in my chest tightens. “Usually not.”
“They teach people how to be safe,” she says thoughtfully. “So they don’t have to be rescued again.”
Abby looks up at that, her attention snagged despite herself.
“That’s true,” I say carefully.
Daisy brightens. “Could I come see where you work? To learn more? For my project.”
The room seems to go still.
I feel Abby’s gaze on me. It’s sharp, assessing, and already braced for a boundary to be crossed.
I straighten slowly, making sure my voice stays calm.
“I don’t work there full-time,” I say. “But if your mom says it’s okay, you could come by the firehouse. We could show you the engines. Talk about safety.”
Daisy’s eyes grow wide. “Really?”
“Really. But only if your mom’s comfortable with it.”
All eyes turn to Abby.
She hesitates just a fraction of a second too long.
I see it then. The fear beneath the composure. The calculation. The instinct to protect her daughter from attachments that might not last.
“This isn’t a regular thing,” she says carefully. “It would just be for the project.”
“Of course,” I reply immediately. “No pressure.”
Daisy looks between us, then beams like she’s already decided the outcome. “It’s just learning,” she says brightly. “Learning is safe.”
Abby exhales slowly, defeated by her own logic and her daughter’s earnest hope.
“Okay,” she says. “We can come by. Briefly.”
Daisy squeals and throws her arms around my waist before I can react.
