He stamped the receipt with a heavy wooden stamp that echoed in the quiet lobby. “Have a good day, young lady.”
“Thank you, Arthur,” I said.
I walked out into the chilly morning air, holding my coat tight around my stomach.
On Wednesday afternoon, the tracking page finally updated. Sarah, my older sister, sat at my kitchen table with her laptop open next to a plate of sliced apples.
“It says delivered,” Sarah said, pointing a finger at the screen. “Signed for at twelve-forty today.”
I set down the baby bottle I had been washing. I had bought two small glass bottles at the grocery store, just to have something physical in the cupboard.
“Did he sign it?” I asked, wiping my hands on a kitchen towel.
Sarah squinted at the resolution on the screen. “The portal only shows a tiny digital crop of the signature line. It is definitely signed, but the image is too blurry to read.”
