Sunlight streams in my son’s bedroom window. A metallic glint catches my eye, and my heart sinks at the sight of crumpled foil on his floor. He’d found my stash.
Summoned before me, his guilt shimmers like an aura. I know what he’s been doing. I can smell it on his breath.
“Do you have something to tell me?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
He considers his options. “I love you?”
I sigh. We are at an impasse. Accusing him of pilfering my hoard of leftover Easter chocolate would require admitting its existence.
“I love you too.”
Bested, I accept my five-year-old’s chocolate-glazed kiss, and make a mental note to move my stash.
Jhenn Kinnear is a data analyst who writes fiction to release her creativity and inner weirdness in a life ruled by logic. Her family keeps her healthy. She does not do the same for her houseplants.
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