The bedroom door swung open again, and Ian ran in with his little backpack on. His face was filled with worry. "Mommy..."
A pang of panic hit Naomi. She immediately sat up and opened her arms to Ian. "Sweetheart, you're home from school? It's our fault. Mommy and Daddy were too busy to pick you up today. Can you forgive us?"
Ian threw himself into Naomi's arms. He looked up, his eyes shimmering with tears and his lower lip trembling as he tried his hardest to keep from crying. A faint sob still escaped. "Mommy, are you sick?"
"Are you really, really sick?"
"Does it hurt? Let Ian blow on it for you, okay?"
He kicked off his slippers, climbed onto the bed, and clumsily took Naomi's hand to blow on it.
"Mommy's not sick. Don't you worry, sweetheart, okay?"
"You're lying!" Fat tears rolled down his cheeks. "I heard the grown-ups outside say you were sick."
