It happened on a Wednesday, the night before school photos. He came out of his room holding the tooth in a tissue, proud and a bit grossed out. “I’ll put it under the pillow,” he said. I nodded and thought, right, remember this one. Then I didn’t.
By the time I remembered, it was 6:40 in the morning and he was standing in the hallway with the saddest face on the planet. “She forgot me,” he said. That hit harder than it should have. I wanted to say, she didn’t forget you, she’s just exhausted and fell asleep on the sofa with her phone on her face. But I didn’t. I just hugged him and said, “Maybe she got lost. It happens.”
While he was brushing his teeth I did the ridiculous mum sprint to my purse, found a coin, and slid it under the pillow like a burglar. He spotted it straight away. “See,” he said, “she came back.”
“Of course she did,” I said, pretending to be calm. My heart was doing laps.
I’ve forgotten the Tooth Fairy twice now. I’ve forgotten PE kits, reading folders, birthday invites. I don’t even bother feeling guilty anymore; there’s only so much space in my head and most of it’s taken up with meals, money, and keeping him alive.
That night I sat on the edge of the bed while he slept, holding the tiny coin he’d given me back “for safekeeping.” He trusts me far more than I deserve.
I looked at my phone, thought about texting his dad, then didn’t. He’d just say, “You’ve got too much on,” which isn’t helpful because it’s true. I made tea instead.
Maybe the Tooth Fairy’s tired too. Maybe she fell asleep on the sofa with her phone on her face.