The thought made my blood run cold.
I swallowed the murderous impulse clawing up my throat, arranged my face into the smile of a woman who suspected nothing, said "Thanks, Mom," and took the keys from her hand. Then, calm as anything, I took my daughter's hand and walked out the door.
I didn't take my daughter to school.
Instead, I called her teacher to excuse her for the day, hailed a cab, and headed straight for the amusement park.
Lily Abbott was over the moon.
The park had been open for years. Every one of her classmates had been there at least once. My daughter never had. It wasn't that we couldn't afford the tickets.
Every time I'd planned to take her, something always came up.
Sometimes James had to work overtime.
Sometimes Silas dragged the whole family to some networking dinner with relatives.
Sometimes Zoe invented a holiday nobody had ever heard of and flat-out forbade us from leaving the house.
I kept waiting. My daughter kept waiting. We waited until I was dead, and we never made it to the amusement park.
Dying once taught me something. Some things can't wait for other people. Can't wait for tomorrow. If you want to do something, you do it now.
Lily didn't know any of that.