“I’m sorry, Eddie. I know how hard you worked for it. I’m so sorry.”
I set the jacket down and looked at her.
“Robin… stop.”
But she kept apologizing, and that hurt more than anything those kids had done.
That night, we sat at the kitchen table with our mother’s old sewing kit and fixed it. Robin threaded the needle while I held the fabric steady as she stitched it back together.
We found some iron-on patches in a drawer and used them to cover the worst of the damage.
It didn’t look new anymore. I told her she didn’t have to wear it again if she didn’t want to.
“I don’t care if they laugh,” she said, meeting my eyes. “It’s from my favorite person in the world. I’m wearing it.”
I didn’t argue.
The next morning, she put it on, waved at me, and walked out the door. I stood in the kitchen holding my coffee, hoping the world would just leave her alone for one day.
I got to work at eight and was halfway through inventory when my phone buzzed. It was Robin’s school. My heart started racing before I even answered.
“Hello..?”
“Edward, this is Principal Dawson. I’m calling about Robin.”
