“I’m going outside,” she said, already unbuckling.
“Okay,” I said. “Stay where I can see you.”
She was halfway to the garden before I finished the sentence. Hector greeted her with a warm smile, passing her a pair of child-sized gloves from his toolbox like it was the most natural thing in the world. Within seconds, she was kneeling beside him, inspecting a row of marigolds with the intensity of a scientist.
It made me smile. It also made what I knew was waiting inside a little easier to face.
The moment I stepped through the door, I heard the telltale clink of teacups, my mother’s version of pacing. She stood in the kitchen, immaculate as ever, phone still on the counter, expression already primed for battle.
“There you are,” she said. “I’ve been waiting to talk to you.”
My stomach tightened. “About what?”
She folded her hands, the picture of calm control. “I spoke with the headmistress from St. Agatha’s this morning.”
“Mom—”
“She’s willing to make an exception,” my mother continued smoothly, as if I hadn’t spoken. “They’re prepared to admit Ava starting Monday. I told her you’d be thrilled.”
I blinked at her, sure I’d misheard. “Youwhat?”
“I used to play tennis with her husband,” she said, like that explained everything. “All it took was a few calls.”
“Mom, you can’t—” I felt my voice rise and fought to keep it steady. “You don’t get to make that decision. I told you, the public school is a better fit.”
Her smile didn’t crack, but her tone sharpened. “Better fit? Eleanor, really. That place is chaos. The children are?—”
“Happy,” I cut in. “They were happy. And the staff actually understood Ava’s needs.”
My mother’s eyes flashed, all softness gone. “Needs or excuses? You’ve let her hide behind them for too long. She needs discipline, not coddling.”
The words hit like a slap, even though I’d expected them.
I drew a slow breath, every muscle in my body screaming to keep my voice level. “You think she’s hiding? She’s surviving, Mom. She lost her dad. She’s autistic. She’s doing her best every single day.”
My mother’s jaw tightened. “So are you, dear, and look where it’s gotten you.”
For a second, the kitchen blurred. I gripped the back of a chair just to stay anchored.
“I’m done, Mom,” I said quietly. “You don’t get to bulldoze me into your version of ‘best’ anymore.”
Her eyes widened, the faintest flicker of surprise breaking through her composure. “Eleanor?—”
But I didn’t stay to hear the rest.
I walked out of the kitchen before she could recover, climbed the stairs two at a time, and shut myself into the bedroom.
The second the door clicked shut, I pressed my back against it and exhaled hard. My hands were shaking. My pulse felt too loud in my ears. I wanted to scream, to cry, to sleep for a week, anything to stop the exhaustion that had settled into my bones and refused to leave.
I swallowed it down. Like I always did.
But when I turned toward the bathroom, I froze.
Belle was on her knees by the tub, rubber gloves on, scrubbing tile like she was waging war on mildew. She looked up, startled, with a streak of suds across her cheek.
“Oh,” she said, blinking. “Didn’t realize you were home yet.”
I tried for composure and failed. My voice came out brittle. “Sorry. I just needed?—”
