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Caspian should’ve been there for this.

He should’ve been standing in the doorway laughing at Kaidence’s crooked clothes, talking about how his son clearly got his dressing skills from me just to irritate me. He should’ve been helping straighten his collar, reminding him to listen to his teacher, and probably slipping him money he absolutely did not need before sending him out the door.

My throat tightened.

I wished he was there to see him off… to witness one of those ordinary little moments that didn’t seem important until the person who was supposed to share them with you wasn’t there.

I pushed the ache down before Kaidence could notice and stood, holding out my hand.

“Come on, handsome. Let’s get downstairs before you make us late on your first day.”

He hopped off the bed and grabbed my hand, but before we made it two steps toward the door, he abruptly stopped and hurried back over to his dresser.

“Oh, can I wear my chain?”

“Absolutely not.”

He turned around, offended. “Why?”

“Because you’re going to school, not a video shoot. Besides, that chain is expensive, and if you lose it, you would never hear the end of it from me.”

Kaidence shrugged like I had just presented him with the easiest problem in the world.

“Grandma will just give you the money for a new one.”

I slowly turned my head and gave him a look that said he had officially said enough.

He blinked at me. “So…?”

“So put it back.”

His little mouth twisted. “But it matches my outfit.”

“Kaidence.”

He sighed dramatically and laid the chain back on the dresser. “Fine.”

“Thank you.”

He let out a heavy sigh like I had just personally ruined his entire childhood, trudged over to the heavy dark-wood dresser, and dropped the little silver link chain back into the top drawer.

He grabbed my hand again, muttering under his breath, “Grandma would’ve let me wear it.”

“I heard that.”

“Can I at least tell Grandma I got dressed by myself?”

I smiled. “You can tell her you attempted it.”

“Mommy.”

“I’m just saying.”

Willow was sitting at the kitchen island with her laptop propped open when we walked into the kitchen.

She had on a black headset, an oversized graphic tee, and plaid pajama shorts. Her workday had already started, and judging by the tight line of her jaw and the way her acrylics were aggressively tapping the counter, somebody on the other end of that call was on their last nerve.

“No, ma’am,” Willow said, her voice dripping with sweet, corporate venom. “What I am explaining to you is that if your department didn’t submit the signed requisition by Friday at five, there is physically nothing in my queue to approve.”