"I miss you mommy," she says, in a voice that sends me running to the Swedish bakery down the street to assuage my guilt.
When she calls again I have good news. "Cupcakes," I tell her. "With orange and black icing and little Halloween charms on top."
When I get home, she is already in bed. Not quite asleep. But close. "Cupcakes?" she asks. "Not now," I say. "Tomorrow." She is too sleepy to argue.
This morning I go to wake her up for school. It is never easy. Eventually she opens her eyes and focuses. Then, as if the past ten hours had elapsed in a blink, she smiles and picks up the conversation right where we left off.
"Cupcakes," she says.