I corral my two kids through the crowded library. Nolan runs ahead, while Hana lags behind. She is always distracted by something. “Come on!” My voice oozes frustration. I yank open the front door and stumble down the cement stairs. Nolan trudges dutifully towards our parked car, but Hana vanishes. My eyes scan the street, then the steps. She’s nowhere in sight. “Hana!” I scream. Suddenly, she appears on the library’s handicapped ramp. Her little face is flushed and panicky. As she rushes towards me, one of her shoes falls off. I try my hardest not to burst into tears.
Leah Mueller lives in Bisbee, Arizona. Her work appears in Rattle, The Spectacle, New Flash Fiction Review, Outlook Springs, NonBinary Review, and elsewhere. www.leahmueller.org Instagram: @msleahsnapdragon