The office at Little Sunshine Daycare smells like lemon cleaner and crayons, the way trust is supposed to smell.
Steve sits on a tiny chair clearly designed to humble adults. His knees are up around his ears. Robin sits beside him, posture perfect, one hand resting just on his forearm like she’s done this a thousand times and not practiced it in the car like a lunatic.
Across from them, Mrs. Caldwell, late forties, sensible cardigan, eyes sharp in the way of someone who has Seen Parents, folds her hands.
“And you’re both… Stella’s parents.”
Robin smiles first. Calm. Warm. Believable.
Steve nods a beat too hard.
“Yep. Married. Very… married.”
Robin squeezes his arm. Just enough to say stop talking.
Mrs. Caldwell smiles politely. The smile of a woman who has watched three divorces happen during snack time.
“How long have you been married?”
Robin doesn’t miss a step.
Steve blurts, “High school sweethearts.”
Robin’s smile tightens microscopically.
“We met just after high school,” she corrects, breezy. “At Scoops Ahoy, actually.”
Mrs. Caldwell raises a brow.
Steve perks up, grateful for familiar ground.
“I worked there. She hated me.”
“I still do,” Robin says fondly, turning to him. “You kept mixing up the sprinkles.”
“They all look the same!”
Mrs. Caldwell watches them, pen paused. Not suspicious. Assessing.
“And Stella lives with you both full-time?”
“Yes. We’re very structured at home. Consistent routines, lots of reading, play-based learning.”
Steve jumps in, softer now, the way he always gets when talking about his baby.
“She really likes blocks. And music. She calms down if you hum.”
Mrs. Caldwell’s eyes flick briefly to Stella, who is on the floor lining up wooden animals with intense concentration.
“She’s very observant,” the manager says. “Has she been assessed?”
Steve tenses. Robin answers, steady as a metronome.
“We’re in the process. Speech delay, some sensory sensitivity. Nothing that defines her. just things that need the right environment.”
Mrs. Caldwell nods slowly.
“That’s what we specialize in.”
Steve exhales without realizing he was holding his breath.
Mrs. Caldwell flips a page.
“And your work schedules?”
Steve opens his mouth. Robin is faster.
“I work mornings. Steve works evenings. One of us is always home.”
Steve adds, “We meal prep on Sundays.”
“Yeah. You. uh..label the containers.”
“Because you can’t tell chicken from pasta.”
Mrs. Caldwell smiles now. A real one.
“Parenting is… revealing,” she says. “And challenging. Especially when children don’t follow the manual.”
Robin’s hand tightens on Steve’s arm. Not performative. Grounding.
“We’re committed,” Robin says. “To Stella. To doing this right.”
Steve swallows. He leans forward, voice quiet, earnest, stripped of the act.
“She deserves somewhere that sees her before they see… me.”
Mrs. Caldwell studies him for a long moment. Then she looks at Stella again, how she hums softly as she moves the giraffe beside the elephant.
Finally, she closes the folder.
“We do have one opening,” she says. “It’s competitive. Expensive. Demanding.”
“Let’s do a trial week. See how Stella settles.”
Steve’s eyes go glassy. Robin covers it by standing too, shaking Mrs. Caldwell’s hand.
“Thank you,” she says, voice warm. “We really appreciate it.”
Mrs. Caldwell walks them to the door. As they step into the hallway, she pauses.
“You two,” she says gently. “You’re doing fine.”
Robin smiles. Steve almost breaks.
The door closes behind them.
They get three steps down the hall before Robin hisses, “Meal prep?”
Steve whispers back, stunned and giddy,
“It felt right in the moment.”
The car doors shut with that solid, merciful thunk of privacy.
For a second, neither of them moves.
Then Steve’s hands drop to the steering wheel and just… stay there. Like if he lets go, the adrenaline might pour out of him and leave nothing behind.
“Robin,” he says quietly.
She’s already unbuckling, twisting to check on Stella in the back seat, who is chewing on the strap of her shoe like its gourmet. Robin waits. She knows that tone.
Robin stills. She doesn’t joke. Doesn’t deflect. She just nods once, sharp and sure.
Steve swallows. His voice wobbles despite his best efforts.
“I know this was weird. And lying. And… a lot. But you didn’t even hesitate.”
She finally looks at him then, eyebrows raised, eyes soft but fierce.
“You didn’t ask me to fake a marriage,” she says. “You asked me to help your kid.”
Steve laughs under his breath, scrubby and relieved.
Robin reaches over and flicks his wedding-band-that-is-definitely-not-real.
“Also, for the record? We were a great fake couple.”
“We argued about laundry like professionals.”
Stella squeals in the back seat, delighted by absolutely nothing.
Steve starts the car. Pulls out of the lot. The world feels lighter, still hard, still expensive, still unfair, but survivable in a way it hadn’t twenty minutes ago.
He glances at Robin, grin creeping in sideways.
“So… wanna go pretend it’s our anniversary for free stuff?”
Robin grins back, immediate and feral.
