“That’s us,” Lily whispered, already standing straighter.
“Noah is more important than his schedule.”
We shuffled down the jet bridge, Noah’s tiny fingers curled against my collarbone. A businessman behind us huffed loudly when I paused to adjust the carrier, and my face flushed hot.
“Take your time, Mom,” Lily said, loud enough for him to hear. “Noah is more important than his schedule.”
I almost laughed. Ten years old, and she already had a spine I sometimes wished I could borrow.
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