After my divorce, I worked double shifts at a dental office and still brought my children to my parents’ house every month because I wanted them to have grandparents.
But that afternoon, when I saw Lily’s chin tremble and Noah’s little fists close tight around his plate, the last soft part of me turned hard.
I set the grocery bags on the floor. “Noah. Lily. Coats.”
My mother blinked. “Don’t be dramatic, Claire.”
I looked at my children. “Now.”
They came to me at once. Noah took Lily’s hand. I helped them into their coats while everyone at the table stared as if I had interrupted some sacred ritual.
Vanessa laughed. “Where are you going? To McDonald’s? That’s more your level.”
I grabbed Lily’s backpack and Noah’s inhaler from the side table. As I moved toward the door, my father’s voice followed me.
