“I ordered the part.”
“You said that three months ago.”
“Must’ve gotten lost in shipping.”
I rolled my eyes, but I laughed too. None of it seemed important at the time.
On Thursday morning, Megan showed up ten minutes early, same as always. My son smiled the second she walked in.
“There he is,” she said, reaching for him. He leaned toward her without a moment’s hesitation.
I handed him over and grabbed my bag. “His breakfast’s in the fridge. He woke up before six, so he might need an early nap.”
“Got it,” she said.
“Call me if anything seems off.”
“I always do.” She smiled so warmly I actually felt a little guilty for saying it.
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