Oh. My. Gosh. I am so tired. Not only have I had more than double my usual number of hours at work (not that I'm complaining, because usually I get pretty much nothing), but I've been practically living at my rehearsal hall. By the end of next week I will have been there nine days out of fourteen. Anyway. Here's the next chapter. Go ahead and read it. I dare you.

Chapter 12

The woman I'd spoken to over the phone looked most apologetic when Carlos and I entered the office twenty minutes later. She met my gaze only once before scurry to the back of the admin area. Carlos guided my chair over to the desk where Janelle, the regular office lady, was waiting to help us out.

"She's new," Janelle explained when I glanced over toward the other woman. "Thought she had a major piece of gossip with you having been in rehab. She came straight over to us when she hung up. Caroline got angry at her for assuming it was drug related."

"I didn't exactly help by not giving the full information," I defended, signing my name in the visitor's book she handed down to me.

"Babe," Carlos said, which I took to translate roughly into You're too understanding.

"Either way," Janelle agreed with my husband. "She shouldn't make assumptions like that." She handed us our visitor badges and directed us toward the boys classroom.

When we arrive there was a group of children playing fairly quietly at the back of the rom. I spotted my two curly tops amongst them just as their heads snapped up simultaneously, despite the distance between them.

"Mommy!" Edi exclaimed racing over to give me a hug. I almost burst into giggles when I saw what he was wearing. A pink tutu had been pulled on over his jeans and an animal tail that looked like it might belong to a kangaroo trailed out the bottom of the skirt.

"Look at you!" I exclaimed enthusiastically, knowing that if I made fun of his choice of dress it could hurt his development.

"What are you wearing?" Carlos asked him from behind me, his forced uppity tone only just masking the horror I knew he was feeling. I reached my hand up to cover his where it rested on the back handle of my chair in an attempt to keep him calm. He was, of course, of the mind that boys should not be interested in 'girly things' which definitely included wearing skirts and dresses. Everyone I spoke to in the matter, however, said that it was good for them to explore things out of their typical gender role because it broke down the barrier and created equality. I'd told him this, as had his mother and my mother and even my dad, but he couldn't just switch that part of himself off. He wanted his boys to act like boys, but he understood the importance of allowing them a well rounded life experience.

"I'm a unicorn!" Edi announced proudly, regaining my attention.

"And a very handsome one at that," I agreed, curling a lock of his hair around my finger. "You go back and play with your friends now," I suggested. "Daddy and I are just going to talk to you teacher."

Mat gasped beside me, alerting me to the fact that he had come to join our group. "Have we been bad?" he asked anxiously.

"Course not," Carlos said knowingly and all three of us breathe a sigh of relief before Mat and Edi skipped off to join the tower building frenzy.

The boys' teacher, Miss Jones, swooped in the moment they had rejoined the group, shaking our hands and thanking us for coming at such short notice. "You handled Edi's costume choice remarkably well," she acknowledged, locking eyes with Carlos. "Most fathers I've witnessed would have gone off their rocker at such a thing."

"I've learned to expect the unexpected where my family is concerned," he provided coolly, deliberately leaving out both the fact that he'd always expected the unexpected, even before we came along, and the fact that seeing his son in a skirt was still eating at him right now.

"Of course," Miss Jones nodded agreeably, a smile peeking through. "Your sons are quite unpredictable."

"They get that from me," I confessed, suddenly feeling like we were under examination.

She laughed, which was a truly joyous sound, the kind that made everyone around her want to smile. It was no wonder the boys loved her so much. "I don't doubt that for a minute," she assured me. "How are you by the way? Mat and Edi said you weren't coming home until you could walk again?"

I opened my mouth to respond but Carlos spoke up first. "She was making no progress whatsoever at the facility so we made the executive decision to bring her home. Our friend has been working with her and already in the last week she has made more progress than in the entire time she was away from us. At the rate she's improving I expect she'll be walking – with assistance at least – by the end of the week." That was news to me. And it was a little daunting if that's what he was expecting of me. I couldn't handle disappointing him.

"I don't think I can do that," I told him, a tightness beginning to wind up in my chest. "I've only been home a week!"

He placed one hand on my thigh and the other on my cheek, forcing me to hold his gaze despite how flighty I was feeling. "Babe," he intoned, causing me to gasp in a shaky breath. "You can do anything you put your mind to, but nobody is expecting this of you. Not the way you're thinking. We expect you to walk again because you're too stubborn not to. If you don't, that's okay. But what really matters is you're working at it. You're determined to get there. We're just being optimistic." He held my gaze even after he'd finished speaking, making sure that his message sank in and I understood that he didn't mean to put pressure on me. I blinked my eyes closed for a moment and took a deep breath before meeting his chocolate pools once more and giving him a short nod that I was okay.

Turning back to Miss Jones, I kept a firm grasp on Carlos's hand to seep in his strength after my less than stable moment. "Sorry about that," I offered, trying to put a cap on my embarrassment.

"Not at all," she said. "We all have our moments. And this is a difficult time for you and your family."

"The boys," Carlos said rather abruptly, redirecting our attention to the reason we were there. "How are they doing?"

Miss Jones smiled again. She was obviously fond of her job and enjoyed working with children. "Academically, both Eduardo and Matias are well above average for their age," she informed us proudly. My heart swelled at the news. Being that I wasn't exactly book-smart myself one of my biggest hopes was that the boys would take after their father in that respect. To have this woman who was clearly in the know on such matters, given that she spent seven hours a day, five days a week with them was very reassuring. "Eduardo seems very sound in both his gross and fine motor skills for this age group. But Matias seems to struggle." My chest tightened anew at this news, instinctively worrying about my baby. "It's perfectly normal for some children to lag behind at this age, however given other observations I and a couple of other staff members have made, we think it may be a little more complicated than simply being below average in his motor skills."

Oh God, I thought, the worst case scenario running through my head at warp speed. Please don't let him have a disability. Carlos squeezed my hand to remind me he was still there to support me. We'd get through whatever it was together.

"It's nothing too bad," she explained quickly, obviously catching the vibe I was sending out. "In fact, in the grand scheme of things, it's really quite minor. You see, his clumsiness combined with other factors, such as rubbing his eyes, tilting his head and leaning over his activity pages closer than the norm, lead us to believe he may be having trouble seeing."

I let out a breath I hadn't realised I was holding as relief washed over me. Carlos's hand tightened on mine, but it wasn't a mere squeeze like usual, where it tightened an released, the tension remained for long moments, even as I confirmed with Miss Jones what she was suggesting. "You think he may need glasses?" I asked, receiving a polite nod in reply. Carlos still didn't let up. I glanced over, getting slightly worried, only to find his blank face firmly in place. "Carlos?" I murmured softly, just loud enough for him to hear the worry in my voice.

"I'm fine," he assured me, but his fingers didn't loosen. In an attempt to force him to relax I started to gently prise his fingers off my own. He released my hand almost mechanically. "I'm okay," he reiterated, stroking up my arm to my elbow before returning to my hand and weaving our fingers together. "We'll get his eyes tested at the earliest opportunity. Everything will be fine."

Once we moved past the fact that Mat needed glasses, Carlos seemed to relax enough to not be so stiff, but I knew something was still bothering him under the surface. I waited until we had said goodbye to the boys and their teacher and made it into the hallway before asking him what the matter was. Typically, he tried to brush it off at first, telling me he was fine, that nothing was wrong, but I knew him well enough to know not only when he was lying but when he was stewing on something. As he steered me down the hall, deflecting all my attempts to draw his thoughts out, I got fed up. Before he could stop me, I had my hands on the wheels of the chair and was forcefully spinning myself out of his grips so that I could face him.

"Talk to me, Carlos," I demanded. "What's wrong?" He was still silent, so I went on. "Is this because your son is less than perfect? Because ne needs glasses? He'll be fine. He'll be better. Glasses will help him focus more. He won't have as many accidents. This is a good thing."

He locked his gaze on mine for a moment, and I could see a fire burning behind them. "We had to be told by his teacher, Babe," he pointed out and I finally realised what had his metaphoric panties in a twist.

I shook my head. "Carlos, how often do you do fine motor things with the boys?" I asked him. "It's Miss Jones's job to help the kids perform to their greatest potential and identify any problems they may be having. It doesn't matter that you didn't notice it yourself because there is a team of people here all working to provide the best outcome for the children and they are well versed in the signs and symptoms. You should be grateful."

"I should have noticed it myself," he countered.

"Do you need some time to work through this with a punching bag?" I asked in my you-better-hadn't-need-some-time-to-work-through-this-with-a-punching-bag voice.

He sighed, finally seeing my point. "You're right," he agreed. "I'm being petty. Let's go grab some lunch."

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