school at three.
I used to leave early enough to pick her up, then complete my work from home. After transferring departments, that was no longer possible.
Ryan worked across town and rarely got home before six.
For two weeks, we survived on after-school care, favors from other parents, and what little patience I had left.
One night, Ryan said, “Maybe Melissa can handle it?”
I stared at him. He stared back.
Then we both said, “No.”
Emma adored Ryan’s sister, Melissa.
Unfortunately, Melissa could be forty minutes late because she’d stopped for coffee while already running late.
There was also the babysitting incident.
Melissa had let Emma watch IT because, according to Melissa, Emma had promised she “wouldn’t get scared.”
Emma slept between Ryan and me for four nights and still deeply distrusted balloons.
So we kept searching.
Then one afternoon, Travis found me beside my car in the&
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driveway, complaining to my mother on the phone about after-school care.
After I hung up, he leaned against his fence.
“What time does Emma get out?”
“Three.”
“My rehearsal finishes at two-thirty on Tuesdays through Fridays. Place is two blocks from her school. I can walk her home.”
I laughed. “You want to pick up a seven-year-old from elementary school dressed like that?”
He glanced at his leather vest.
“Good point. I’ll wear a tiara.”
I smiled for what felt like the first time all week.
We handled everything properly. The school copied his ID, I completed the authorization forms, and Travis was officially added to Emma’s pickup list.
Emma thought it was the greatest thing that had ever happened to her.
Ryan did not.
“I don’t want our daughter depending on some biker every afternoon,” he said the first night.
I was washing dishes. “He’s not some biker.
