Aiden’s school play was on Thursday at 4 p.m. Alicia had told Alex three times. She’d texted him. She’d written it on the whiteboard in the kitchen. She’d even left a note on his pillow. So when Thursday came and went and Alex didn’t show up, Alicia’s heart sank before her pride could kick in. “Where’s Papa?” Aiden asked, standing in his little astronaut costume, face painted silver, eyes bright and then slowly, painfully, dimming. Alicia knelt down and smoothed his hair. “I’m sure he got held up, baby. He’s so sorry.” But when she called Alex, it went straight to voicemail. When she texted, she got no reply. That night, Alex came home at 9 p.m. with flour on his shirt and exhaustion in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said immediately, pulling Aiden into a hug. “I got stuck in a meeting. I thought… I thought the play was next week.” Alicia felt the familiar ache. “It was today, Alex.” Aiden hid his face in Alex’s shirt. Alex looked up at her, guilt etched into his face
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