We found the dress.
She skipped down the street, between Nate and me, holding our hands. Sometimes she held tight and lifted her feet up behind her, like she was flying.
She was flying.
We entered the busy, bustling Kindergarten barely a minute before the teacher waved us out of the room. (Of course we were late. Nice to meet you. We're Those Parents.)
Some kids stared down at their desks. Some clung to their parents. Some sobbed. Thalia was far too busy penning her name in perfect little caps on the new Polaroid of her beaming face to even notice me squeeze her goodbye.
The tears stung the back of my eyes as I moved with the crowd of parents out the doorway. It was hard not to look back.
Isn't it always?