“The food up here is incredible. They even gave me a hot towel 😍”
A hot towel—while I was wiping spit-up off my shirt with a baby wipe I’d picked up off the floor.
I didn’t answer. I just stared at the message like it might disappear.
Then another text—this one from my father-in-law.
“Send me a video of my grandkids on the plane! I want to see them flying like big kids!”
I sighed, switched to the camera, and recorded a quick clip: Willow banging her tray table like a drummer, Samuel chewing his stuffed giraffe like it owed him something, and me—exhausted, pale, hair in a messy bun, my energy completely drained.
Mateo? Nowhere in sight.
I sent it.
Seconds later, a simple thumbs-up came back.
I thought that was the end of it.
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