Not even close.
“Come here,” I tell her gently.
She steps into me, small hand curling into my shirt. She’s been holding tears on her tongue and needs somewhere safe to put them.
I rest my hand on her back, anger locked behind my ribs.
“Everything alright?”
She nods.
Lie.
I look at Eli. He’s smirking, proud of himself.
His mom stands nearby with the PTA officers, smiling as if her kid is the golden retriever mascot of the school.
I look at Sadie again.
Her face is pale, her eyes bright with held back humiliation.
No.
Not acceptable.
“Want to watch from here?” I ask softly.
She nods fast, burying her face deeper into my side.
I exhale through my nose, rubbing her shoulder in slow circles.
I wait until the kids rotate stations before heading toward Carol.
She’s mid-conversation about fundraising banners and “elevating the Harvest Gala aesthetic,” whatever that means, when I clear my throat.
“Carol.”
She turns, smile tight and plastic.
“Boone. How… unexpected.”
Right. Because I’m not at PTA meetings every week. Because without a wife in tow, I must not care about my kid.
“Can I talk to you about something?”
“Oh?” she chirps. “Of course.”
“It’s about Eli.”
Her smile freezes.
“I think he said something to Sadie. Something that upset her.”
“Oh,” she says, tone already shifting into dismissive. “Well, I’m sure it was a misunderstanding. Sweet boys get their wires crossed sometimes.”
“He told her she doesn’t get a turn because she doesn’t have a mother.”
Her expression flickers with embarrassment, but she masks it quickly.
