My Son Said I’d Be Taking The Bus—Until I Opened The Glovebox

I looked out the window.

The spot where the Toyota always sat was empty. A clean rectangle of concrete, like someone had erased a piece of my routine on purpose.

My chest went tight—not only from missing him, but from the way Andrew spoke to me. Like I was a problem to solve. Like my life could be reorganized with a few taps and a confident tone.

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