“See you, buddy,” I say, clapping his shoulder as he heads toward the buses.
We get into the truck. Sadie buckles herself in, slower than usual. Eli’s voice echoes faintly across the lot, chattering about some new toy. Sadie stares out the window until I pull away from the curb.
She chatters, eventually. She always does. On the drive down the familiar road toward Sunridge Ranch, she tells me about her art project, about recess, about how she ate three grapes and a cookie at lunch because she’s growing.
Then, quieter…
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, Sadie.”
She picks at a loose thread on her backpack strap. “Do I…haveto play with Eli? At school?”
Sharpness lodges behind my ribs.
“No,” I shoot back immediately. “You don’t have to play with anybody you don’t want to.”
She gives the smallest nod, still not looking at me.
“He talks a lot,” she says after a beat. “And sometimes he says stuff that… Micah says it’s rude.”
My grip on the steering wheel tightens before I can stop it.
“What kind of stuff?”
She shrugs, eyes glued to the passing trees.
“It’s fine,” she adds quickly. “I just like playing with Micah better.”
Damn, this kid. Six years old and already trying to make me feel better.
I let it go. For now.
“You stick with Micah, then. He’s a good friend.”
Her shoulders loosen a fraction. That’s all she needs—permission to listen to her own gut.
We drive a few more minutes in comfortable silence before she speaks again.
“Daddy? We’re doing a Mother’s Day thing soon.”
Oh no.
It’s that time of year.
That’s why it was such a sore spot.
My hands tighten on the wheel. Again.
She watches me.
“We’re doing a card and a button,” she says, filling the silence. “And maybe a photo. Mrs. Hanover said it’s okay if someone else comes instead of a mom. Like a grandma, or an aunt, or…” She trails off.
We don’t have any of those.
I clear my throat.
“We’ll handle it.”
