You know that one spot? The one right by the entrance to the office?
I don’t think anyone’s officially claimed it, but after seven months of waddling around with swollen ankles and an aching back, it’s kind of become ‘my’ spot.
I’m not asking for much—just a few extra steps shaved off my morning commute from the parking lot to the front door.
I thought we had an unspoken agreement. I park there because, well, I need it more than the rest of them.
It was sort of an unspoken thing. Everyone in the office being mindful of my pregnancy.
Well… almost everyone.
Today was different.
I pulled into the parking lot a little later than usual—I had overslept because ‘this baby’ decided to keep me up all night kicking.
It wasn’t a great morning, and I wasn’t expecting much.
I was just looking forward to sliding into my spot, taking a deep breath, and easing my tired body out of the car. But no.
Brian’s car was sitting there like it had every right to be.
Brian. Of all people.