He looks down at the plate with a tiny smile. “Eggs, huh?” “Monroe likes them,” I whisper, trying to fight the memories threatening to pull me back in time. Of course, he knows our daughter likes eggs, but he also knows I hate cooking them. They’re so slimy and it makes me gag every time I have to crack an egg. I can eat them just fine, it’s just the actual raw egg that gives me the ick.
