Sometimes, after my shift, Audrey would sit in the library while I finished the last hallway. I’d look through the glass and see her bent over a book, so focused, so certain she belonged there.
On those nights, the work didn’t feel small at all.
Staff families got tuition breaks.
Still, Daniel’s family only called twice a year, at Christmas and Easter.
There were no birthday calls, no check-ins.
Gina’s calls were always the same: “Are you coming for Easter Sunday dinner, Stella?” as if it would be rude of me not to accept.
***
That Easter, I came straight from a morning shift, my stomach tight with nerves.
I showered as fast as I could, slipped into my best light blue blouse, Daniel’s favorite. I fussed over Audrey’s hair, pinning back stray curls as she twirled in her new yellow dress.
“Are you coming for Easter Sunday dinner, Stella?”
“Do you think Grandma will like it?” Audrey asked, twirling in the hallway.
“She’ll love it,” I lied, smoothing her shoulders. “And if she doesn’t, it’s her loss.”
Audrey grinned. “You always say that.”
I glanced at her backpack, double-checking for the letter, the scholarship letter, folded into the side pocket. She’d read it so many times that the paper was going soft.
“Ready?”
She nodded. “Ready, Mom.”
“Do you think Grandma will like it?”
***
We drove in silence for a bit, sunlight flickering through trees.
At a stoplight, Audrey fidgeted with the hem of her dress. “Mom?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Do you miss Dad on days like this?”
I shook with a deep breath. “I miss him every day, baby. But you make these days better.”
She looked relieved, and for a moment I remembered the toddler who’d once climbed into my lap, sticky with jam, certain I could fix anything.
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