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See me at three? Benny wouldn’t be a problem.

On nights I danced, he stayed the night with the sitter.

Mrs. Grazia loved having Benny for sleepovers.

Without any grandchildren of her own, she spoiled him something rotten.

But seriously—I worked two jobs. Two. He could’ve waited until my day off or hell, even a day where I just worked my cleaning shift.

Whatever. I walked out to my car, heading to pick up Benny at school. The drive took me twenty minutes and I turned into the parking lot.

Like always, Benny stood just inside the glass doors today with Miss April, one of his teachers.

The always happy, always smiling Miss April floated through the center like her life had been fairy-kissed to never have a single problem.

She and I were only a couple of years apart in age, but I felt old enough to be her mother most days.

Living the dream.

But then I realized I was as Benny lifted his little arms to me.

No shouting at the top of his lungs like other mothers got.

My boy was nonverbal. My “Momma” would have to wait a while longer.

I bent forward to pick him up, peppering his face with kisses.

Same dark brown and darker brown eyes as me, my son was kind of a mini me.

I loved that. I loved that he got all of me and none of his deadbeat sperm donor.

“How’s my boy?”

So what he didn’t answer yet? He giggled and squealed, completely owning my heart. “How was he today?” I asked Miss April—wearing her long, golden blonde hair down, a brave move, considering she spent her day with a bunch of sticky-fingered toddlers and preschoolers.

“He had a full day today and he has a painting for you.”

I gasped to show him my delight. “A painting? Benny, did you make momma a painting?” My baby’s smile made everything worth it. “Then let’s go to your cubby so I can see my painting.”

With Benny, the more animated I was with my responses, the more he actually responded. Words were on the horizon, I felt it.

Pride showed through his eyes as he pulled the rolled-up paper from his cubby and handed it to me.

“You did this?” I asked excitedly and he granted me another one of his big Benny smiles.

“My boy’s an artist!” I shouted. “It looks like we need a new frame.” All artwork in my apartment came care of Benny.

My walls showed a progression of his accomplishments.

They might’ve looked like nothing—abstract child’s art—to most people, but I saw them as milestones in his development.

His therapies were expensive but worth it.

After slipping his jacket over his arms and collecting his lunch box and backpack, I signed him out and headed for his therapy appointment.

My little guy always enjoyed his time there. They made learning fun. I scrolled through my phone watching stupid cooking videos until the therapist called me back to his office.

Normally, I’d have been right in the room with my son—therapists, doctors, a degree didn’t mean you weren’t a perv—but all the kids and therapists worked in the same large room here.

Mr. Tom, Benny’s therapist, looked like a man version of a goofy kid. He wore these thick, black glasses and his hair always looked a mess. He wore Pokémon T-shirts and jeans. And I always got a really good vibe off the guy.

“Please, Ms. Michaels, have a seat.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me ‘Bree’? You see my son three days a week. I think we’re past the Ms. and Mr. stage in our professional relationship.”

“Fair enough, Bree.” He walked to sit behind his desk, folding his hands to rest on the desktop, which seemed a little formal for the situation.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

He sighed. Fucking sighed . My stomach dropped. Nothing good ever started with a sigh like that.

“Just spill it,” I demanded.

“Benny is such a good boy.”

“I know.”

“And we’ve been with him for over a year.”

I waited him out.

“As we’ve talked about over the past couple of months, new issues have sprung up. I just don’t think we can do any more for him here at this facility.”

“You’re firing my son?” And I almost leaped out of my seat to choke the life out of the asshole. Benny needed his therapy.

Mr. Tom put his hands up defensively to what?

Calm me down? Fuck calm. “There’s a new facility that’s just opened up.

It’s a school and therapy together, full day.

Dr. Sharp is a leader in neurodivergent medicine and she has patients who are very similar to Benny’s case.

I believe she can help him more than we can. ”

“A new school? Would that be good for him? He loves his school and his teachers. I don’t want to stress him out.”

“I’ve called Dr. Sharp. You have to be recommended to even get a foot in the door. She can see you on Tuesday at three. Can you make it?”

“I work, but I guess I have no choice. I can’t believe you’re doing this to him.”

“Bree—” No. Now he didn’t get to use my name. I death-glared the mother of all death glares. “Ms. Michaels,” he corrected, “this is for his benefit.”

“What if he doesn’t get in? What then?”

“Then come back here and we’ll figure something out. But I just don’t think I’m the best fit to help him now.”

Tears welled in my eyes, but I nodded and took the paperwork. Then I picked my boy up and got the hell out of there. Benny pressed his head against my shoulder as we walked to the car.

“Hungry, buddy?” I asked through my tears and he smiled. We drove to a pizza joint not too far from our place. My boy loved pepperoni and mushrooms on his pie, just like his momma. I got him lemonade and a Coke Zero for me.

He watched little kid videos on my phone while we waited for our food. When our server set the pizza on the table, I let him keep the phone to give me a chance to cut up his slice into small squares, giving it a chance to cool.

For his one slice, I ate three. Cleaning up after hockey players made me hungry. Sue me. Then I boxed up the rest of our pizza, paid the bill, and headed home to change. I wasn’t allowed to wear my uniform into Slits, even if it didn’t stay on .

After changing, I walked Benny across the hall to Mrs. Grazia’s apartment. I brought her the rest of our pizza.

“My Benny,” she said, smiling, and he giggled because she’d neglected to put in her dentures and he found her missing teeth funny. He threw his arms around her legs to hug her.

I squatted down to his level. “Okay, buddy. Momma has to go to work. Do I get hugs?”

He turned to me, almost knocking me on my butt with the force of his little body. My heart felt full. “Love you,” I said.

My boy kissed my cheek. That was as much as I’d get back for now, but it spoke volumes.

So I left them to it, heading for job two.

All of my thongs and bikini tops stayed in my locker at work until wash day.

I wasn’t ashamed of dancing. It helped me pay those hefty bills that our insurance didn’t cover.

Still, I wanted to keep that part of my life separate from our life together.

On my way to the club, I got a call from a coworker at the arena.

“Can you swap shifts with me? Work Monday and I’ll cover tomorrow?”

“Everything okay?”

“No. I just found out my grandmother died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry… Do you really want to work tomorrow?”

“I don’t have PTO and I can’t afford to not work. The funeral is on Monday. If you switch me tomorrow, then I already have Saturday and Sunday off. Monday will be covered.”

“Done.”

“It won’t be an imposition?”

“I’m sure not. Mrs. Grazia watches Benny for me. Unless she has a doctor’s appointment, which she hasn’t mentioned to me at all, she shouldn’t mind. Do you think you’d be up to cover my Tuesday afternoon? Benny has an important appointment. ”

“Bree—you’re a lifesaver. I owe you, so I’ll absolutely take your afternoon.”

“Just make sure Mr. Hicks knows about the change.”

“I’m waiting outside the office now.”

“Text me when it’s taken care of.”

We hung up and yes ! I got to have a lazy day with Benny. We didn’t often get those.

After giving Mrs. Grazia a quick call to let her know of the plan change and having her tell me what she always told me, “It’s no problem,” I turned into the parking lot to the club.

Staff parked around the side of the club and had a separate door to enter through.

We had a code to type in. The door otherwise stayed locked and the owner had cameras installed all over, so I never felt unsafe to walk in or leave alone.

The door from the parking lot led to the hallway that housed the offices and dressing room for the dancers.

I walked to Steve, our manager’s, office to clock in.

I hated Steve. He undressed me with his eyes every time he saw me and that was just creepy, considering I stripped for a living.

Wait twenty minutes, then you could see it for real.

“Bree,” he said in his smarmy, weasel voice.

He had short, dark hair, wire-framed glasses, and his neck was almost as thick as his head, but his head was this long, oval shape.

Given his tall, lanky stature, he reminded me of the kid from the movie Superbad , so the girls and I always referred to him as McLovin—behind his back, of course.

“Hey, Steve.”

“Your son still going to that therapy shit?”

“It’s not shit, and yes,” I answered. Steve was forever trying to get me to go out with him—and I said ‘go out’ loosely.

He just wanted to sleep with me. Never. Never in a million years.

But I didn’t have to explain my no because the owner had a zero-fraternization policy in place.

Plus, as the manager, that’d be a huge sexual harassment lawsuit for the club.

He constantly asked if I was going to quit because then he could take me out.

“Waiting on your resignation.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’ll be the first to know.” Barf.