As we walk back to the car, my heart fills with all sorts of feelings. Guilt is the worst of them.
My kid needed me. He needed me, and I wasn’t there.
By the time we make it home, Eli’s bouncing around with grocery bags filled with tubs of all sorts of flavors. I know I’m goingto need to give him a stern talking-to about his attack on Bobby, but for now, I want to put him at ease. I want to see him smileagain.
Then I see the crumpled envelope lying on the welcome mat.
“Mommy?” Eli peers down at it. “What’s this?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly, squirreling it under my arm. “Just mail.”
But I can’t ignore the anxious thumping of recognition in my chest, nor the Post-It stuck on top of the contract.
You have three weeks to decide.
Three weeks. That’s all I’ve got.
Three weeks to figure ou
