Lily looked from his face to Simone's and back, the beginning of worry knitting between her brows. "Are you mad?"
"I'm talking to Mommy," Aaron said. "Bench. Please."
She went. The purple backpack bobbed. The sneakers blinked. Aaron stood.
The teacher cleared her throat. "If there's a discrepancy, we can review the authorization forms in the office Monday. For today, since you're both here—"
"We're fine," Simone said quickly. "Thank you."
The teacher nodded once, already turning toward another name, another car, another afternoon that would not rearrange itself around the Blake family. Aaron watched her go. Then he looked at Simone.
"In the car," he said. "Not here."
They walked to the sedan without touching. Lily climbed into her booster in the back with the solemn obedience of a child who had felt the temperature change without understanding the thermostat. Simone sat in the passenger seat. Aaron drove. The school fell away behind them in a tide of yellow buses and late sun, and the streets of their Charlotte suburb — oak canopies, brick ranch houses, the grocery that always smelled faintly of bread — unspooled in ordinary mercy that no longer felt earned.