The next morning, my phone buzzed while I was giving Ava and Nova their cold medicine.
“Open wide, monkey,” I said, and Nova giggled as she made a show of hating the taste.
“Can we have pancakes again?” Ava asked as she climbed into my lap.
My phone vibrated on the nightstand; it was from Tessa.
“Thank you again, Charlie. Matthew is feeling so much better and it’s all thanks to you.”
There was an image attached: it was Matthew, smiling with a juice box and a toy dinosaur in hand.
I smiled without thinking.
“Who’s that, Daddy?” Ava asked.
“Just someone saying thank you,” I said.
And I saved the number.
Two days later, I was trying to get Ava to wear matching socks and Nova to find her white sneakers.
It was one of those mornings where exhaustion clung to me like a second skin. There were cereal spills on the kitchen counter, and Ava remembered that she had a poster due that day.
Then came the pounding on the front door.
Not knocking; pounding. All I could imagine was a heavy, deliberate fist hitting wood like it had a score to settle.
I opened it.
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