The anxiety began, I’m pretty sure, a couple of Fridays ago, the day I took Lily to the doctor to check on the brand spanking new set of stitches put into her forehead by the lovely resident in the emergency room.
The doctor was a nice man, we had a nice chat, and he declared Lily good to go after a friendly five-minute examination. We bade farewell with the lack of emotion you would expect from a professional exchange that is likely never to be repeated.
Two and a half hours later, I got the text from Mike telling me he was visiting the same doctor getting stitches for Jake.
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