This morning, I walked a few steps behind Thalia once we entered through the heavy school doors, as requested. “Like I’m not even here,” I had assured her. Only today was different than it had been all week. Today I stopped once inside.
She kept going.
“I’m so so proud of you I said,” giving her a last squeeze and pulling my sunglasses down over my eyes. She bounded up the staircase, backpack dangling off her shoulders, toward the classroom and out of my sight without once looking back. Without once looking back to give me a wave or a wink or that thumbs up thing she does. She just went.
Then I cried.