My jaw tightens, but I keep my face calm.
"That was cruel," I say simply. "She shouldn't have said it."
Zoe lets out a short, bitter laugh. "But she's not wrong, is she? My dad doesn't want us anymore."
Zoe's bottom lip trembles as she finally looks at me.
"Mom's going to be so disappointed. Again."
"Your mom is terrified right now," I tell her. "She's out driving around, looking for you, probably imagining every terrible thing that could've happened. But disappointed? No. Worried, yes. Disappointed, no."
Zoe's face crumples and she looks years older than her thirteen years. At this very moment, I hate Mitchell Lark for this.
"I keep messing everything up. I make Mom's life harder. I can't stop getting in trouble. I—" Her voice breaks, and the tears she's been holding back spill over. "I made Dad leave by being such a bitch."
I shift closer. "Zoe, look at me."
She does, reluctantly.
"You did not make your dad leave," I say, firm and clear. "That was his choice. Not yours."
"But if I was better, if I was nicer or quieter or less trouble, maybe he would've stayed." The words come fast and jagged, and I recognize the hurt under them. "Maybe he'd want to see us."
"No." I don't let my voice waver. "You're a good kid, Zoe. You're smart and talented and you love your family fiercely. Your dad leaving had nothing to do with you. Nothing."
Zoe stares at me, lip trembling. "But I'm so angry all the time. And I take it out on Mom. She's working so hard, and all I do is make it worse for her."
My throat tightens. "Your mom thinks you're incredible. She's proud of you. And yeah, you're going through something. You're making mistakes. That doesn't make you a bad kid. It makes you a kid dealing with hard stuff."
"I don't know how to stop," Zoe whispers. "I don't know how to not be angry."
"You start by saying the real thing out loud," I tell her. "Before it turns into something you can't control. And you accept help when it's offered. You don't have to carry this alone."
Zoe goes quiet, processing. Then, in a voice so small I almost miss it, she murmurs, "Do you think I deserve it? What Dad did after I ruined Jasmine’s dress?"
The question guts me.
I reach out and gently tip her chin up so she has to look at me. "No. Absolutely not. You deserved a father who showed up. Who put you first."
Zoe's eyes go glassy.
"And Zoe?" I add, softer now. "You're going to get through this. Your mom is not giving up on you. Neither am I."
The dam breaks.
Zoe launches herself at me, wrapping her thin arms around my neck and sobbing into my shoulder. I hold her carefully, onehand on her back, letting her cry. Her wings tremble against my arm.
"I'm sorry," she gasps between sobs. "I'm so sorry."
"I know," I murmur. "I know. You're okay."
We sit like that for several moments, Zoe crying and me holding her, the late afternoon sun filtering through the oak leaves and dappling us in shifting light and shadow.
When she finally pulls back, her face is blotchy and her eyes are swollen, but she looks lighter somehow.
I pull out my phone and text Rika.
ME:Found her. Town square playground. She's okay.
