It started on a gray Tuesday morning. I was already drowning in deadlines when my cellphone buzzed. It was Ruby’s preschool teacher. Ms. Allen. Her voice was soft and cautious, as if she were trying not to spook a wild animal.
“Hi, Erica,” she began. “I was wondering if you had a few minutes today. It’s nothing urgent, but I think a quick chat would be helpful.”
I told her I’d be there after work.
Ms. Allen.
When I arrived, the classroom looked like a holiday Pinterest board. There were paper snowflakes, tiny mittens on a clothesline, and gingerbread men with googly eyes. It should have made me smile.
Instead, Ms. Allen’s expression conveyed that something was off.
She pulled me aside after pickup and guided me to a tiny table. “I don’t want to overstep… but I think you need to see this.” She slid over a piece of red construction paper.
My heart pounded the second I saw it.
It should have
made me smile.
It was my daughter’s picture of four stick figures who stood hand in hand under a huge yellow star.
I recognized the ones labeled “Mommy,” “Daddy,” and “Me.” But then there was a fourth figure.
She was drawn taller than me with long brown hair. The woman wore a bright red triangle dress and smiled like she knew something I didn’t.
Above her head, my daughter had written the name “MOLLY” in big, careful letters.
… the name “MOLLY” …
Ms. Allen looked at me kindly. She lowered her voice so that my daughter, who was distracted by a puzzle a few tables away, wouldn’t hear.
“Ruby talks about Molly a lot. She’s come up not casually, but as if she’s part of her life. Your daughter has mentioned her in stories, drawings, and even during singing time. I didn’t want to worry you, but… I just didn’t want you blindsided.”
The paper felt heavy in my hands. I smiled and nodded as if I were fine, but my stomach felt like it had dropped through the floor.
Ms. Allen looked
at me kindly.
That night, after the dishes were done and Ruby was in her pajamas, I lay beside her in bed and tucked her under her Christmas blanket. I smoothed her hair from her forehead and asked, as casually as I could, “Sweetheart, who’s Molly?”
She beamed as if I’d asked about her favorite toy!
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