The following day at work, the conversation from last night lingers in my mind. It’s a slow afternoon, the diner half-empty, and I find myself replaying her words over and over. There’s a part of me that wants to protect her from the messiness of our reality, yet another part knows she deserves to understand it.
My shift ends, and I find myself dreading the parent-teacher meeting scheduled for later. It’s as if the universe has decided that now is the time for all truths to come to light, whether I’m ready or not.
Back home, I find her in her room, headphones on, and lost in her world. I knock gently, and she looks up, pulling one earphone out.
“Hey,” I say, awkwardly leaning against the doorframe.
She nods, a silent invitation to enter.
“We should talk… later,” I suggest, not wanting to push too hard. “After the meeting, okay?”
She nods again, her eyes meeting mine, a flicker of understanding passing between us.
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