“I can see that.”
She takes off again before I can say anything else, disappearing into the noise of the room. One of the kids I’m volunteering with today.
Laughter, voices, movement. In two words, controlled chaos.
And for the first time in a long time—I don’t feel the need to track every exit. I don’t count heads twice. I don’t listen for footsteps that don’t belong. I just exist in it.
I move through the room, checking in where I’m needed. A boy struggling with a puzzle. Two girls arguing over markers. A spill that gets cleaned up before it becomes anything bigger.
Small things. Real things. Things I can actually help.
That used to matter to me. It does again.
“Scarlett.”
I turn. My supervisor stands in the doorway, watching the room with a quiet kind of approval. “Sorry,” I start. “I’ll?—”
“Don’t,” she says. “They’re fine.”
I glance back.
They are. Still messy and loud and, most importantly,safe.
Like me.
“That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you,” she says, stepping closer. Something in her tone shifts my attention fully.
“You’ve been here a few weeks,” she says. “Long enough to know this isn’t easy work.”
I nod. “I know.”
“You also haven’t once looked like you were trying to escape it.”
I chuckle softly. “Because I’m not,” I say. “I love working with kids.”
She studies me for a second, then nods. “We’re opening up a part-time position,” she says. “Possibly full-time down the line.”
My breath catches. I’ve been hoping for this ever since I saw the listing.
“I’d like you to take it,” she adds. “You don’t have to decide right now.”
“I’ll take it,” I say simply.
Her expression shifts, pleased, but not surprised.
“Good,” she says. “I think it fits.”
So do I.
The air outside is warm.Late afternoon stretching toward evening, the light softer now.
I step out onto the sidewalk, and there he is. Leaning against his big white truck.
His Stetson low, arms crossed. Body relaxed and waiting. The quiet one. My husband.
“You’re early,” I say, walking toward him.
“Or you’re late.”
