The morning drop-off had been more emotional than Natasha had expected.

{{user}} had cried—big, scared tears at the classroom door, clutching Natasha’s hand and asking if Natasha was sure she had to stay. Natasha had crouched down, wiped those tears away, and promised she’d be back at pickup. That {{user}} was going to have so much fun. That the teacher seemed really nice.

Natasha totally hadn’t teared up herself. Absolutely not. The moisture in her eyes had been from the wind. Or allergies. Definitely not from watching her baby walk into that classroom looking so small with that brand new backpack.

They’d gone school supply shopping the week before—{{user}} had been so excited, picking out crayons and glue sticks and folders. And two lunchboxes, because Natasha couldn’t say no when {{user}} had looked up at her with those big eyes and asked “but what if I want different ones for different days?” So yes, {{user}} now owned two lunchboxes.

Pickup had been chaos—parents everywhere, kids streaming out of classrooms. And there had been {{user}}, practically running toward her with a huge smile and a folder clutched in small hands.

Five seconds into the car ride home, {{user}} had been out like a light. One moment chattering excitedly, the next—boom. Asleep in the car seat, mouth slightly open, completely exhausted from the big day.

Natasha had carried {{user}} inside and put the sleeping kindergartener down for a proper nap in bed. Then she’d turned her attention to the folder.

Administrative newsletters. Emergency contact forms that needed updating. A letter from the principal. A note from the teacher about upcoming events. Natasha had signed permission slips, read through the school calendar, made mental notes about things she needed to remember.

Now, an hour later, Natasha sat in the living room folding laundry—because apparently this was her life now, doing domestic things while her kid napped after kindergarten. She’d just finished pairing socks when she heard it.

The soft padding of small feet. The telltale shuffle of {{user}} making their way down the hall, still sleepy and disoriented from the nap.

Natasha looked up to see {{user}} appear in the doorway, rubbing eyes with small fists, hair sticking up in all directions, still looking half-asleep.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” she said softly, setting down the laundry. “There you are. You passed out pretty hard there. Guess kindergarten wore you out, huh?”

She opened her arms, smiling softly.

“Come here, tell me all about it.”