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Kaidence didn’t shrink back against my leg like I thought he might. His dark eyes darted around, taking in the bulletin boards, the trophy cases, and the cafeteria smell of warm toast and butter.

Curious, not scared.

The front desk secretary pointed us toward the primary wing, and we walked down the polished hallway until we reached room one-twelve.

His teacher, a young woman with warm brown eyes and a welcoming smile, looked up from her desk the second we stepped through the open doorway.

“Good morning!” she said cheerfully, kneeling down so she was on Kaidence’s eye level. “You must be Kaidence. We are so excited to meet you today.”

“Good morning,” Kaidence said, using his polite outside voice.

She introduced him to two little boys sitting at a low table near the window who were building a tower out of plastic blocks. One of them, a kid wearing a Spider-Man hoodie, immediately looked up and asked, “Do you play Mario Kart?”

Kaidence’s entire face brightened like somebody had just handed him a hundred-dollar bill.

Lord.

He was going to be completely fine.

I was still standing by the door holding his lunch bag like it was a lifeline, trying to keep my emotions from leaking out of my eyes.

I crouched down in front of him, setting his lunch on the low shelf beneath his assigned cubby, and straightened his backpack straps one last time.

“Okay,” I said softly, looking directly into his eyes. “You know the rules?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“If you feel bad or you need anything, you tell Mrs. Davis right away.”

“Mommy.” He let out a little breath, his eyes already drifting over toward the plastic block tower. “Can I go play now?”

I blinked, letting out a wet, half-strangled laugh. “Well, damn. Excuse me for loving you.”

He giggled, threw his arms around my neck, and squeezed me with all his little strength. “Love you, Mommy.”

“Love you more, handsome,” I whispered into his hair. “Have the best day.”

He kissed my cheek, pulled away, and took off across the carpet toward the toy table without looking back once.

I stood there in the doorway for another quiet moment, watching him sit down criss-cross applesauce next to the boy in the Spider-Man hoodie.

Mrs. Davis walked over and gave me a reassuring smile. “He’s going to have a great day, Mom. I promise we’ll take good care of him.”

“Thank you,” I managed, clearing the thickness from my throat. “I appreciate it.”

I turned and walked back through the noisy hallways, out the double glass doors, and into the crisp morning air.

By the time I climbed back into the driver’s seat of the truck, my phone buzzed on the console with a text from Willow.

Willow: Bring me coffee or I’m telling Granny you said her potato salad needed work.

I stared down at the screen, letting out a genuine laugh, and quickly typed back:

Me: Yo' ass is so damn petty. Lol. But get off my phone and do your job before they fire you.

Her response came through three seconds later:

Willow: This IS my job! I am delegating executive nutrition tasks.