Victoria.
Before I even open it, I know what it’s going to say. These days my ex-wife only texts to cancel plans with Chloe.
Victoria:Hey, so bad news. Derek’s company is having this big event in Portland this weekend and we need to go. It’s last minute and I’m really sorry but I can’t do our weekend with Chloe. Will make it up to her soon, I promise.
I read it twice. Then a third time. I type back, keeping it short even though I want to say a lot more.
Me:She’s been talking about this weekend all week. She’s going to be really disappointed, especially since this isn’t the first time you’ve cancelled last minute on her.
The response comes fast.
Victoria:I know and I feel terrible. But it’s really important for Derek’s career.
I pocket my phone and get in the car, hands tight on the steering wheel. The anger is there, immediate and hot, but I push it down because getting pissed isn’t going to help Chloe. I need to figure out how to tell her without letting her see how frustrated I am.
Maybe I’ll say something came up for work that Mom couldn’t miss. Keep it vague. Focus on circumstances rather than choices. Make it sound unavoidable instead of what it actually is: Victoria choosing Derek’s work event over spending time with her daughter. Again.
I start the engine and head toward Mrs. Lowrey’s studio, running through different ways to break the news. Whatever Isay tonight, Chloe needs to believe her mom loves her and wants to see her, even when Victoria’s actions keep saying otherwise.
We’ll have a great weekend anyway. Just the two of us. I have to work some, but maybe we’ll make pancakes for dinner the way she loves, drench them in syrup and eat them on the couch while we watch nature documentaries. Maybe we’ll do a living room campout with sleeping bags and flashlights and stories until she falls asleep curled up next to me. I’ll let her stay up too late and have ice cream for breakfast if she wants.
I’ll make it a good weekend. I always do.
CHAPTER 6
Emma
Twenty-three seven-year-olds are quietly working on their reading worksheets, which feels like a minor miracle. The classroom hums with the morning energy I’ve come to love, the sounds of pencils scratching against paper, someone’s chair squeaking rhythmically, Liam in the back humming what I’m pretty sure is a trending TikTok song his older brother taught him.
I wander between desks, offering quiet praise and gentle corrections. Aiden is concentrating so hard on his handwriting that his tongue is sticking out. Maya has already finished and is doodling elaborate flowers in the margins, which I pretend not to notice because her flowers are actually pretty impressive.
I make my way through the rows until I reach Chloe’s desk. She’s several pages behind where she should be, fiddling with the corner of her worksheet, folding and unfolding the same piece of paper over and over.
That’s not like her at all. Chloe is usually the first one done, already asking if she can read ahead or help someone else. I crouch down beside her desk so we’re at eye level.
“Hey,” I say quietly. “You alright?”
She looks up at me with those big brown eyes—Theo’s eyes, I realize—and I can see they’re red around the edges.
She sighs, a sound way too heavy for a seven-year-old. “Yeah, I just have trouble focusing today, Miss Hayes,” she says, her voice small.
“That’s okay. We all have days like that.” I keep my voice gentle. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on? Sometimes talking about it helps.”
She looks down at her worksheet, then back up at me, and I watch her decide whether to trust me with whatever’s bothering her. “It’s just... I was supposed to see my mom this weekend and she can’t come because something really important came up for work.” She traces her finger along the edge of her desk. “I haven’t seen her in a really long time and I’m just feeling big feelings about it today, which my daddy says is okay to feel, but Ihatefeeling like this.”
Oh, my heart.
I lower myself to sit on the floor next to her desk, getting as close to her level as I can. “Your daddy is absolutely right. Big feelings are okay, and it makes sense that you’re sad about not seeing your mom this weekend.”
She nods, her shoulders slumping. “I took a bunch of photos at the aquarium on my camera. The one my mom got me for my birthday. I wanted to show her all of them and tell her about the octopus and the sea otters. There was this one sea otter that kept doing backflips and I got like ten pictures of him.”
“That sounds really special,” I say. “I bet she’s going to love hearing about them.”
“Yeah.” She looks down at her hands. “Daddy said I can tell her about them on the phone tonight. But I really wanted to see her, you know? She doesn’t get to see me very much.” Her voice drops even quieter. “And she canceled last time too.”
Her eyes start to well up and she bites her lip hard, looking like she wants to do anything but cry in the middle of class. I’mtorn between two equally strong urges—one to scoop her up and protect her from any and all pain in the world, and another to find this woman and give her a piece of my mind. Maybe a swift kick in the shin while I’m at it.
I opt for the more professional approach. “Oh sweetie. It’s okay to miss your mom. I miss my mom a lot too.” The words come out before I can think better of them, but they’re true. “Sometimes when we really miss someone, everything feels a little bit harder. Even things that are usually easy. Like reading worksheets.”
