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“It’s okay, Nate. You’re not in trouble. But please tell Mrs. Spencer that you understand that you can’t jump on desks.”
    â€œNo, Mom.” Nate violently shook his head from side to side.
    I sat next to Nate and placed my hand firmly on his knee. Looking straight into his eyes for as long as he’d let me, I explained quietly but firmly that we were going nowhere until he acknowledged what Mrs. Spencer had said to him.
    â€œI get it, okay? No jumping on desks.” Despite his words being laced with rudeness, I settled for his understanding and felt a sense of triumph to have outlasted him. For a moment, I hadn’t been sure who would win the battle.
    I rose from my chair and explained to Mrs. Spencer that Nate would return to school after he’d been cleared by a doctor. She nodded her head, pursing her lips, and said nothing more as I ushered my son out of the school.
    I called Pete from the parking lot to let him know what had happened, and to tell him he needed to take Nate to the doctor.
    â€œHow long was he unconscious for? And why didn’t they call me as soon as it happened?” Pete asked. I could hear the concern in his voice.
    â€œApparently he was only out for about a minute. And they didn’t call because I walked in soon after it happened. They had just put the ice on his head, and said they were going to call home as soon as they got Nate settled.”
    â€œI can’t believe this. Seriously, you’ve got to be kidding.”
    â€œDo I sound like I’m kidding? Can you take him? I’ll drop him off in my cab. And can you pack a lunch for him? He hasn’t eaten yet.”
    â€œYeah … sure, I’ll take him. I’m assuming you can’t do it yourself because you have meetings?”
    â€œStarting at two o’clock, then back to back until six. I can’t miss them. I’d take him if I could but —”
    â€œI said that I’ll take him,” Pete interrupted. His voice was tense, and served as a reminder of the strain that had recently pierced our relationship. For twelve years, we’d had a solid marriage, filled with as much hard work as there was adoration. And the result of our commitment to each other was strength in union — not only for the two of us but for our family as well. But in recent months, an unexplained tension seemed to repeatedly seep into our conversations, showing its unsightly face in what had previously been ordinary moments.
    I freed myself of more uncomfortable banter by bringing up the excuse that I needed to call a taxi. When it arrived, I opened the door for Nate and pulled him close to me as the cab pulled away, heading in the direction of our house.
    As I watched the storefronts on Bloor Street whizzing by us, I gently kissed the top of Nate’s head and inhaled deeply, taking in the unmistakable scent of Johnson & Johnson shampoo. I knew Nate was likely getting too old for it, but I couldn’t seem to part ways with the tiny reminders that Nate was my baby for just a little while longer.
    Five minutes into the ride home, I noticed twitching in Nate’s shoulders. His discomfort was obvious in every movement he made, and maternal instinct told me that it wasn’t the blow to his head that was causing it.
    â€œAre you okay, Bean?” I asked gently, calling him by the nickname I’d given him as an infant. He said nothing, and continued to stare out the window. Every few seconds, his shoulders would twitch.
    My heart ached for my son, heightened by the fact that I couldn’t be the one to take him to the doctor, to be there for him, as all mothers should be for their children.
    When we reached our house, I walked Nate up the driveway, anxious about the time it was taking. He was sluggish, but I didn’t want to hurry him. When we finally reached the porch, Pete opened the door to greet us, and ushered our son into the house.
    â€œAre you