Papa

Hubbie left today for the south of France, to find us a flat. We parked the car and walked up the stairs to the station. We waited 10 minutes for the next train. I cried a little because I knew how much I would miss him. My 15-month-old son doesn't understand departures really; he just observed the trains with interest. He did not wave goodbye as he watched his Papa disappear behind the train doors, and he did not understand why I ran after the train a little ways with him in my arms.

An hour later in the park, he looked up at the spot on the bridge where his Papa often pokes his head out to play peekaboo with him. "Papa," he said, pointing his chubby finger and squinting into the fading sunlight. I wanted to cry. Hopefully it won't take too long to find a flat, and Papa will be back soon.