Once, I would have hated that kind of disorder.
Now I loved it.
It meant no one was afraid of making a mess.
One warm afternoon in November, we attended Olivia’s kindergarten autumn sports festival.
She was competing in a sack race.
Jessica and I cheered so loudly anyone nearby might have thought our daughter was running an Olympic final.
When Olivia crossed the finish line, she sprinted toward us.
I lifted her into the air.
“I won the race, Dad!” she cheered happily.
“Of course you won, you were amazing!” I laughed loudly.
Then I noticed someone standing behind the outer chain-link fence.
Carmen.
She wore an old brown coat and carried a small bag of strawberry hard candies—Olivia’s favorite.
She stayed on the public sidewalk, well away from the school grounds.
The restraining order prevented her from coming closer.
For a moment, our eyes met.
