Laura
The scent of buttered toast and scrambled eggs fills the kitchen as I move around, flipping pancakes on the griddle while keeping an eye on the fruit slices the kids are supposed to be arranging neatly on their plates. Instead, Adrian is stacking them like Legos, and Alexandra is making a smiley face with strawberries and banana slices.
“Mommy, do you think Daddy will like my drawing?” Alexandra asks, swinging her little feet under the chair.
I glance at the sheet of paper beside her plate—a colorful mess of crayon strokes depicting what I assume is David, her, and Adrian. She’s even drawn Mrs. Abigail, who pretends to be grumpy about these weekend trips to New York but secretly enjoys getting spoiled with an unlimited spa budget.
“He’ll love it,” I say, placing a pancake on her
