Invisible String

20

We were getting Lily to preschool.

And I couldn’t believe how big our girls were already.

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I don’t know why I thought this would be easier than it was.

Lily had been practically vibrating with excitement all morning—singing in the car, quizzing us on whether her teacher would have glitter pens, if anyone else would bring fruit snacks, if she could write her name big on her cubby.

But the moment we pulled into the preschool parking lot, everything changed.

“I changed my mind,” she said quickly, eyes wide as she stared out the window. “I can just learn numbers at home.”

Travis reached back and gave her knee a reassuring squeeze. “But then who’s going to show them how to be awesome? They need you in there, Lil.”

I turned around from the passenger seat and smiled at her, while unbuckling Mira’s carrier from the base. Mira blinked up at me, cheeks flushed from sleep, one little fist curled under her chin.

“You’ll be okay,” I said to Lily gently, setting Mira’s car seat handle up with a click. “And we’ll be back before you know it.”

She didn’t look convinced.

Travis opened her door and helped her down while I hoisted the car seat out and settled it on my arm. Mira weighed almost nothing, but carrying a car seat awkwardly through a school drop-off line? That was a different story.

We walked up to the front doors, Lily’s little backpack bouncing with each hesitant step. Her fingers gripped Travis’s hand tightly while I adjusted the strap on my shoulder. Mira kicked once in the carrier and let out a small, annoyed squeak. I bounced the seat a little. She settled.

“Hi there! You must be Lily!” A teacher met us at the door, warm and cheerful.

Lily shrank back behind Travis’s leg and muttered something I couldn’t catch.

“She’s just a little shy,” I explained, shifting the carrier. Mira let out another fussy noise. “It’s her first day.”

“Well, we’re so glad she’s here. We’ve got a big fish waiting to meet her in the classroom—his name is Pickles!”

Lily peeked out. “A fish?”

Her voice was tiny but hopeful.

“Yep. You can help feed him, if you’d like.”

That was all it took. She gave my hand a squeeze before slipping hers into the teacher’s.

“You’re gonna do great,” I said, crouching down to her level and kissing her cheek. “Be kind. Be brave. Be you.”

“Will you come back?” she asked softly.

“Of course,” I promised.

She turned toward the classroom slowly, already distracted by the promise of glitter glue and story time. She didn’t look back.

I stood there for a second, adjusting the car seat again, feeling the silence where her chatter had been all morning. Mira let out a grumpy sigh in her sleep. I gently rubbed her belly through the blanket.

“Okay, Mama,” I whispered to myself. “One down.”

Travis was waiting outside the door, arms crossed and smiling that familiar, quiet smile he saved for moments like this—when something big shifted and neither of us said it out loud.

“You good?” he asked.

I nodded, eyes still a little misty. “Ask me again in five minutes.”

He reached for Mira’s car seat and brushed his hand over my back. “Let’s go get coffee. We’ve got one kid and no snack requests for a whole three hours.”