Just One Bed... Right?

The Boss Made Me Moan (2)

At home that evening, chaos swallowed any chance of a conversation.

Our daughter Sarah was sick and clingy. Dinner was rushed and cleanup took forever. By the time the kids were in bed, I finally sat next to Tim on the couch, heart in my throat.

“I need to talk to you about something at work,” I said. My hands fidgeted with the hem of my shirt.

Tim turned toward me, eyebrows raised. “Everything okay?”

“Yes. It’s just... there’s an issue with the retreat. A rooming problem, actually.”

He didn’t get the chance to respond. Sarah cried out upstairs, followed by the unmistakable sound of vomiting. We both shot up and ran.

By the time we got her cleaned, comforted, and back in bed, it was past nine. I felt that window closing, but I was determined to try again.

Then the phone rang. It was my grandmother calling, and she sounded weak. I couldn’t ignore it, so I told Tim I was heading out and drove straight to her place.

I got back two hours later, drained and tired.