Greg walked beside me with his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know why you encourage him with stuff like this.”
“He’s six. He likes what he likes.”
“Boys don’t push strollers, Hannah.”
He stepped into the garage to take a call.
“This one does.”
Greg shook his head and let it drop.
That was our rhythm.
He’d push a little, I’d hold still.
He’d say, ‘Leave the complicated stuff to me,’ and I’d smile because I hated pointless fights more than being talked down to.
“Can we go to the special place again?”
That night at dinner, Greg’s phone buzzed on the table.
He flipped it face down before I could see the name.
“Work?” I asked.
“Nothing important.”
Later, he took a call in the garage. I heard his voice through the door but not the words.
I had no idea Leo already knew more.
When he came back, he ruffled Leo’s hair.
