DALLE'S POINT OF VIEW
Today Mommy didn't come down for lunch.
She said she was "working upstairs," but I didn't hear typing like I usually do. No phone calls either. Just quiet.
I ate a peanut butter sandwich at the kitchen table with Daddy. He cut the crust off for me even though I didn't ask, and I smiled because I like when he remembers the little things. But Mommy usually does that too.
After lunch, Daddy had to go to the garage to fix the back tire. He said I could draw in the living room or play upstairs, but "no wild climbing adventures."
I promised.
But my feet didn't go to the living room.
They tiptoed to Mommy's room.
I wasn't snooping. I swear. I just wanted to smell her pillow and leave her a drawing I made of our family at the ice cream shop — because she said we'd go, and I wanted her to remember.
Her door was open just a little. Enough for me to slip in without creaking it.