Moments Like This

My daughter comes downstairs.
It is a Tuesday and she’s off to school. She is in the middle of an exam frenzy — twenty-one in total.

I stay between the kitchen and the hallway and look at my daughter. I pause and look.

Sitting on the floor, she’s putting her shoes on. She doesn’t untie her shoelaces; she never liked tying them. She pushes her feet in, as usual.

I look at her long hair, her back in a grey uniform blazer, her long legs. A moment that will evaporate, leaving no trace. No proof of this will remain.

She stands up and, without looking at me, says, “Bye guys.”

“Bye, lovie,” I say, filled with tenderness.