Normally I would have laughed.
Instead, I looked into the back seat.
Emma was staring out the window.
When we arrived, Cheryl was completely normal.
She opened the door and hugged Emma.
“There’s my girl.”
Emma allowed the hug but pulled away faster than usual.
If Cheryl noticed, she didn’t show it.
She asked Adam about work and told me she’d tried a new recipe for potatoes. She spent lunch chatting like nothing was wrong.
For a moment, I actually wondered if Emma had exaggerated whatever this was.
Then Cheryl turned to Adam.
“By the way, are you finally going to fix that leaking faucet you promised me you’d look at?”
Adam laughed.
“Fine. Show me what’s wrong with it.”
They headed into the kitchen.
As soon as they disappeared, Emma looked at me.
“Mom.”
“What?”
She glanced toward the hallway.
“Now.”
I got up and quietly went upstairs.
I knew exactly which room Emma meant.
About a year earlier, Cheryl had converted the guest room into Emma’s own bedroom. At the time, I’d thought it was sweet.
There had been a twin bed, a little dresser, a lamp, and a framed photograph of Emma and Cheryl at the county fair.
I reached the door and looked back.
No one was coming.
Then I opened it.
At first, I didn’t understand what Emma wanted me to see.
There was a new bed.
A desk.
More clothes in the closet than I remembered.
I stepped farther inside.
There were sneakers lined neatly beneath the dresser. School supplies filled a cup on the desk. Several unopened packages of socks and underwear sat on one shelf.
This didn’t look like a room for occasional weekend visits anymore.
It looked like someone was preparing for my daughter to actually live there.
Then I noticed the board hanging on the wall above the desk.
Across the top, Cheryl had written, “EMMA’S HOME”
Underneath was a calendar.
I stepped closer.
Week after week had already been marked.
“MOM.”
“DAD.”
“MOM.”
“DAD.”
I stared at the calendar.
Adam and I didn’t have a custody schedule.
We were married.
We lived together.
Why was somebody dividing our daughter’s time between “Mom” and “Dad”?
Then I noticed something written in tiny letters at the bottom.
“Schedule approved by Adam.”
My stomach dropped.
Adam?
He’d approved a schedule for our daughter for the next few months when we’d never even had one before?
