He continued
before I could answer.
“Immediately.”
I smiled despite myself.
“Probably.”
“Definitely.”
He squeezed my hands.
“You would have learned every child’s name. Their birthday. Their favorite snack. Their favorite color.”
He wasn’t wrong.
“You’d spend your lunch breaks buying craft supplies.”
Also true.
“And every time a parent didn’t show up, you would carry that kid home emotionally.”
My smile faded.
“You’d cry in the car.”
He brushed a tear from my cheek.
“You carry everything, Dani. Work. Your mother. Your grandmother every March. Everyone else’s sadness.”
His voice softened.
“I wanted this to be one thing you didn’t have to carry.”
I stared at him.
“One thing I could carry for you,” he said.
For a moment, I couldn’t speak.
I looked at the man I had loved for twelve years.
The man from the dairy aisle.
The man who remembered sunflowers.
