Dylan murmured from the other bed.

“Tomorrow is tomorrow.”

I stood there another moment, listening to the sleepy dispute.

It needed no documents and no audience.

They would ask again at breakfast, and I could remind them whose turn it was.

Downstairs, I set the blue backpack beside the shoes.

The lunches were in the refrigerator.

The red folders were ready on the counter.

I checked that the library book was there, turned off the kitchen light, and went into the living room.

The family photograph hung above the twins’ school drawings.