“Close the freezer.”
He finally did.
Then he crossed his arms.
“You’re the meanest mom in the world.”
“I’ll add it to my résumé.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I. Ice cream comes after dinner.”
Tyler stomped down the hallway.
A second later, his bedroom door slammed.
I shook my head and went back to cooking.
Being a single mother meant choosing battles carefully.
I was willing to negotiate ten extra minutes before bedtime.
I occasionally pretended not to notice socks abandoned in the living room.
But dessert before dinner was not something I negotiated.
Twenty minutes later, someone knocked on the front door.
I wiped my hands on a towel and opened it.
A police officer was standing on my porch.
For several seconds, my brain stopped working.
