The building was older, a little scuffed around the edges, but sunlight streamed through the windows, and someone had drawn flowers in chalk along the sidewalk. Ava walked close beside me, clutching the hem of my sweater. Her headphones hung around her neck, her eyes darting everywhere but the people.
At the front desk, a woman with a kind smile looked up. She had a streak of purple in her otherwise blonde hair and a bright pin on her purse that saidThe Grimm Reapers.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice warm in that way that made me want to exhale for the first time all day. “You must be Eleanor and Ava.”
“That’s us,” I said, surprised by how normal it sounded.
Ava’s eyes flicked to the pin. “You know Belle,” she blurted out, then ducked her head like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
The woman’s smile widened. “Sure do! I skate with her sometimes. You like derby?”
Ava shrugged, but I saw the corner of her mouth twitch. “Belle does.”
“She’s the best,” the woman said. “I’m Ms. Darlene, the secretary-slash-chaos coordinator. You’re gonna like it here.”
And somehow, I almost believed her.
The principal came out a few minutes later, leading us through halls covered in student art and crooked motivational posters. When she opened the door to the special education wing, I felt my shoulders drop an inch.
The classroom wasn’t quiet, but it was calm. There were beanbag chairs, noise-canceling headphones, soft lamps instead of buzzing fluorescents. One corner even had a “cool-down tent” with dark fabric strung up with tiny fairy lights.
A young teacher with a messy bun and sneakers crouched to greet Ava. “Hi there. I’m Ms. Leighton. I hear you like art.”
Ava blinked, then nodded slowly.
“Well,” Ms. Leighton said, smiling, “I could use an artist. We’re making decorations this week.”
Ava looked at me, then back at her. “Can I draw skulls?”
Ms. Leighton laughed. “Please do. We need more skulls.”
That earned the tiniest smile from Ava.
As we toured the room, I kept waiting for the tightness in my chest to return, but it didn’t. There was no judgment here. Just color, sound, and a quiet kind of acceptance I hadn’t realized we were starving for.
By the time we left, Ava had a new sticker on her sleeve and a cautious spark in her eyes.
Back in the van, she climbed into her seat and tapped her leg. I turned the keys and let the engine hum fill the silence for a moment. The day had gone better than I’d dared hope, but I didn’t want to crowd her with questions. Pushing Ava for answers usually meant losing her completely.
I glanced over. She was buckled in, headphones resting around her neck, staring out the window at the playground. Kids were chasing each other across the blacktop, laughing loud enough for us to hear through the glass.
“So,” I said carefully, keeping my tone light. “What did you think?”
Ava shrugged, eyes still tracking the kids outside. “It was . . . okay.”
“Yeah?” I asked, fighting to keep my voice even, casual. “Just okay?”
She turned toward me, mouth twitching into the barest hint of a smile. “The woman with the purple hair was nice.”
I felt something in my chest loosen.High praise,in Ava-speak. The kind that meant she felt safe, seen.
“Yeah,” I said softly, smiling back. “She really was.”
For a long moment, we just sat there with the sunlight spilling through the windshield, the faint sound of kids laughing somewhere behind us.
And for the first time in months, I didn’t feel like I’d failed her.
By the time we pulled into the driveway, the afternoon sun had gone syrupy and golden. Hector was bent over theflowerbeds, pruning the roses with surgical precision. Ava spotted him and perked up instantly.
