All She Asked For

The baby store carried the scent of fresh packaging and possibility. My wife stood examining a stroller, her fingers testing the smooth handle that would soon guide our child through the world.

I pulled out my phone. Emails. Always emails.

"Why do you do this every time you come shopping with me?" Her voice, carrying a hint of disappointment.

"All I ask is for you to be present."

The phone grew heavy in my hand. She was right. None of those emails mattered more than choosing the right stroller, more than her questions about versatility ratings, more than being her partner in these thousand small decisions that would shape our child's world.

I slipped the device into my pocket. The emails could wait. They always could.