Then I hung up.
Frank put the cap back on his highlighter. “We’re going?”
I looked at the itinerary, then at the dark phone in my hand.
“Yes,” I said. “We’re going.”
Part 2:
The phone kept lighting up all night.
At 10:51, Cody rang again. At 11:18, Britney sent a long chain of messages explaining that one sitter might cover Tuesday through Thursday, another could possibly handle evenings, and if I could just come for the first two days, everything would be easier. Easier for them, she meant. Not for us.
I read the texts, turned my phone screen-down, and set my alarm for 5:15.
I did not feel courageous. I felt like a terrible mother doing the painful work of not saving everyone. Every vibration tugged at something old in me, the part trained to believe my children’s stress automatically mattered more than my peace.
At 5:22 the next morning, standing in the kitchen with coffee steaming beside my hand, I read Cody’s final message.
If you get on that plane, don’t call us again.
Frank watched me over his mug.
“Still ready?” he asked.
I took one slow breath. “Yes.”
SEE YOU NEXT POST
