“Boone.” She sighs. “Children say things. Eli didn’t mean anything cruel.”
“A kid doesn’t have to mean it for it to hurt.”
My patience is thinning.
“I’m sure Sadie misinterpreted,” she shoots back with a laugh too light to be real. “She’s sensitive. Everyone knows that.”
My jaw locks so tight it aches.
“Carol,” I try again, keeping my voice level, “I’m not accusing him. Just… maybe talk to him. That’s all.”
She stiffens.
“Eli would never intentionally target your daughter. And frankly, it sounds like Sadie needs to develop a bit of resilience.”
My blood runs hot.
But I breathe.
Because blowing up won’t fix this.
And Carol Spence is not a battle I can win with anger.
“Alright,” I say, stepping back. “Thanks for your time.”
She gives one of those dismissive PTA nods that means I’m already forgotten.
I walk back to Sadie, who now holds a paper cup of water Jesse passed out.
Micah stands with her, loyal as ever.
She looks small.
Tired.
“You okay?” I ask again.
She nods.
Same lie.
But she slips her hand into mine.
And I don’t let go.
The demonstration ends with foam everywhere and Leo letting the kids climb the side of the truck for photos. Sadie goes through the motions, smiles for pictures, hugs Micah goodbye, but she stays pressed to my leg, holding onto a lifeline.
Too quiet.
By the time we reach the truck, she climbs into her booster seat without a word.
As I buckle her in, she whispers, small as a breath, “Daddy?”
“Yeah, peanut?”
“Do you… do you think it’s weird?”
My chest tightens.
