All through that warm season, my husband followed the same routine. Each morning, he would drive our six-year-old son, Luke, to his babysitter’s house on his way to work. It was so ordinary, so expected, that I barely thought about it.
Every now and then, Luke would wave from the driveway or tell me later about the games he played once he arrived. I assumed the trip was just a quick drop-off, nothing more than part of the daily shuffle.
A Moment of Surprise
The drive was quiet, the sun already warming the pavement. Luke chattered about his toys and the plans he had for the day. Everything felt perfectly normal.
When we pulled up to the babysitter’s house, I smiled and encouraged him. “Go on, sweetheart. Time to hop out.”
But Luke didn’t move. He stood by the car door, his small backpack resting against his shoulder, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“Why aren’t you going in?” I asked gently.
He looked at me, puzzled, and then spoke words that caught me completely off guard.
“Dad always goes inside with me first.”
