I found the missing permission slip in the cookbook

Dear Delyara, I was looking for a dinner idea and a folded school form slipped out from between two pages of an old cookbook. I just stood there staring at it because I had spent two days thinking I’d lost it and quietly blaming myself for being scattered again. What made me feel tired wasn’t the paper. It was how fast I had turned the missing form into proof that I was failing at everything. In reality, I had been interrupted while putting it somewhere “safe,” which is how half the house ends up living. I signed it, put it by the front door, and laughed to myself. Then I felt sad. Not big sadness. The ordinary kind. The kind that comes from realising how little room there is in my life for forgetfulness when everyone else’s important things pass through my hands.