The little boy tosses and turns in his bed. He murmurs, and then cries out, his eyes shooting open. “Mom!” He whimpers. “Mom!”
The mother gets out from under her sheets for the third night in a row. She shuffles into his room, bringing the boy soothing words and forehead kisses.
“Go to sleep now, you’re alright.” She tells him. He’s already fading, but she decides to stay with him anyway. She curls up beside her child, looking into his closing eyes. She never complains. She’s just happy to have him.

The sun rises and so does the small family. It’s off to veterinary school for the mother, and day school for the young boy. The boy has forgotten about his rough sleep. He’s excited to get out, and he can’t seem to have enough cheerios. His lip bothers him as always, but he doesn’t complain. He clamps his small mouth clumsily over the spoon as his mother feeds him his cheerios. Armed with his metal spider-man lunchbox, he follows his mother outside to the car. The boy makes driving noises as his mother drives the car. She pulls into the parking lot of his day care center, the Day Care for Special Kids. The son stops his humming.  She comes to unbuckle him from his car seat and he makes the unbuckling hard for her.
“You have to go.” The mother says quietly but firmly. He doesn’t respond to her. The mother has hope for today, and she tries to hold onto it as she walks him to the day care’s front door. Her boy stops at the steps, looking up at her. His eyes ask her if she’s sure.
“Let’s go.” Two more steps and the pair are at the door. The mother knocks and it immediately opens. Behind the door is a wide-mouthed woman showing her widest grin. She too has hope for today, but she always does. She doesn’t believe in yesterdays, only todays.
“I love you, honey. I will see you soon okay?” The mother kisses her little boy’s forehead and pushes him back into the arms of the wide-mouthed woman. She speaks to the woman and turns to head back to her car. The door closes behind her.
The boy follows the woman into the room with all the other kids. In the day care, there are kids with autism. One of the other boys has down-syndrome, and a few of the girls have learning disabilities. The boy, however, is the only one there born addicted to heroin. The woman goes to organize the toy box, and the boy is left alone. He faces three kids. He walks over to them and picks up a block. They look up at him, their eyes lingering on his mouth. The boy is also the only one there with a cleft lip, a severe one, one of the effects of being born addicted to heroin. The three kids turn away from him, not yet making an effort to move away from him. They make the effort a few minutes later, going to the corner of the room. The boy is used to this. He builds his castle, and then knocks it down. The woman is making her rounds and she approaches him, asking him why he knocked down that beautiful house he had built. He mumbles to her that he’s making a bridge.
“A what?” The woman asks him.
“A bridge.” The boy says. Bridge is one of his trouble words, made hard to say by his cleft lip. The woman still can’t understand what he’s trying to say, but she smiles and nods. She moves on. He goes back to building. Two of the older kids that just arrived approach the boy.

The mother gets a call at school again. She has to come pick up her boy. She promises her professor that she’ll take the rest of her classwork for homework. The professor doesn’t respond with “fine” this time. He tells her this has to be the last time. The woman nods and doesn’t say what she fears. She had her hope for today.

She picks up her boy and his eyes and cheeks are wet. She wipes them with her thumbs and kisses him where she kissed him before. She tells him words he doesn’t understand the full meaning of.
“They’ll come around.” Holding his hand, she talks to the wide-mouthed woman. No, they won’t be back for a while. The wide-mouthed woman apologizes. The mother accepts the apology.

They’ll come around. But for now, the mother takes her boy home and she pulls out the list. They practice the words he has trouble with. They make it through the list twice. The mother notices two more that she has to add on. She takes her son to the park and watches him as she finishes her work on a bench. The park is empty, except for a man walking in. He comes and sits down next to her on the bench. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a baggy. He makes sniffing noises and at first she can’t look at him. The mother brings herself to look at him, and then she can’t look away. Memories flood her mind.
Memories of when she first discovered her boyfriend was addicted to heroin. They had been together for almost a year, and he hadn’t ever come out to her with it.
It was late at night, and he had left the bed. The bathroom light was on.
“Honey?” She had gone over to the bathroom. There was a mad shuffling inside, but he couldn’t clean everything up before she opened the door.
It wasn’t a light addiction either, and she pressured him to give it up. He almost did. But, it wasn’t a light addiction. Not even for the baby, could he give it up. She had to let him go.
The man notices her staring and rudely asks,
“Do you want some or something?”
“No thanks.” She tells the man. She rips a piece of paper off of one of her school work papers and she scribbles a number onto it. She hands the piece of paper to the man and rounds up her son. They leave the park and she thinks about what she’s done.

The man from the park calls the number that the mother gave him later.
“Hello?” Answers a voice. He’s reached a doctor’s office.