Where You Go, I Will Go

The warm air through the kitchen window carried no sound of Dad's key turning in the door. Bethany Santos folded the small towels because Mum had asked for help, so she stacked them one on top of another on the chair. Her library card slipped out from between two shirts, and she pushed it back without looking at the stamps inside. Then she untied her hair ribbon and tied it again, tighter, because the talk about next year's exams sat heavy in her chest. Mum came over and folded the last shirt beside her, and rested a hand on her shoulder. Dad works the night shift so he can be home by morning, Mum said, and he will walk through that gate soon. Bethany nodded and smoothed the sleeve in her hands. The lift hummed, and footsteps stopped outside. Bethany opened the door, and Dad stood there with his bag, grinning. "You saved me a plate?" he asked. "It's in the oven," Bethany said.