Leave it to him to cut through the tension with the world’s worst timing.
“Cody, apologize,” Karissa scolds him, her fingers pinching his arm.
“Sorry.” Cody nods, still recovering, but I know he means it.
“It’s all good. I’m pretty positive that isn’t that issue though,” I say.
“Of course it’s not,” Mom insists.
“Hang in there. All in God’s timing,” Dad says, leaning over and patting my shoulder.
“Yeah, tattoo that to my forehead,” I mutter. The line comes out of my mouth nearly every other day.
Mom gives me a sympathetic smile. “We’ll be praying for you two,” she says.
“Thanks.”
“Tell Megan we love her, okay?” Dad insists, and everyone agrees.
“I will.” I nod.
Chapter 29
Megan
I wasn’t even supposed to test for two more days. But Mother Nature beat me to it.
And I didn’t cry this time. Not even a little. Nope. Because I’m…over it. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
I felt so sure this month. My body had new aches, I felt this strange heaviness low in my stomach, I was exhausted…my symptoms felt different. I let myself hope. I let myself believe maybe—maybe—this was it.
But it didn’t matter.
I go through the motions of my morning routine anyway, determined—borderline stubborn—about having a normal day. I curl my hair, put on mascara, pick out a sweater with bright colors. I’m going to school, and I’m going to be the best teacher I can be.
That’s the one place I still feel…useful. Needed. Fulfilled. Kids who run to hug me, who call me “Mrs. Jennings” and need me. I’m needed.
Maybe that’s all motherhood will ever be for me. Within the four walls of my classroom. Clock in, clock out. Maybe that’s all I’m made for.
I don’t bother telling Mason. He’s already gone for the day, and he wasn’t expecting me to test yet anyway. He doesn’t needto be worrying about me at six in the morning while he’s trying to work.
I’ll tell him tonight. When I can see him and I can assure him that I’m fine and over it.
I just hope he’ll believe me.
* * *
By midmorning, the classroom is loud—in the best way. Pencils scratching, chairs scooting, kids talking about the silliest, most random things. It’s exactly the kind of noise I need today. The kind that fills the empty spaces in my head.
“Mrs. Jennings, look at my drawing.”
Taylor holds up a folded piece of paper with a lopsided cat wearing a sparkly pink bow.
“Oh my goodness.” I gasp dramatically. “I love it! I love the sparkles.”
She giggles, admiring it herself again with a shy “thank you.”
Another kid calls my name, then another, and pretty soon I’m circling the room, kneeling beside desks, tying a shoe, settling an argument about whose turn it is to use the jumbo glue stick.
