It was looking like the worst day of Anita’s life. “Things,” she said to herself as she reached for a fresh handkerchief, “will never be the same again.”
She could barely stand to watch him, as he walked slowly and uncertainly down the path. Don’t turn around. Don’t look back. It’s hard enough as it is, she thought, don’t make this even more difficult.
Four years. For four long years he’d been hers and hers alone. They had flown by in an instant. She remembered life at the beginning. Two hearts beating as one. Two souls, eager to learn about one another.
Deep down she’d thought it might not last. Hadn’t her friends warned her this day might come? “It’s inevitable,” they’d said. “You think it won’t affect you, but it always happens in the end.” She’d tried to ignore them. After all, what did they know? They were just jealous of what she had.
Anita’s focus returned to the path. Damn. He was looking back, an unspoken question on his face. The tears returned to her once more. Hot, salty, bitter. And she wondered. Does every woman feel like this, on her son’s first day at school?