The Table They Sent Us To
I’ll come get you in a minute.” Cruz searched my eyes.
“Did we do something wrong, Dad?” I brushed the hair off his forehead.
“You did nothing wrong, mijo.
Nothing at all.”
I sent them to the little table on purpose, for one minute, with the sundae and the cherry soda, and it was the hardest small thing I have ever done.
Every instinct in me wanted to gather them up and carry them out of that room right then, away from every person in it.