“For as long as you want.”
Maybe that was the wrong call. I don’t know. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, but I couldn’t stand to see him cry.
I lifted off the mask and wiped away his tears. “If I let you wear the costume, you have to do something for me. I need you to eat something and drink some juice. Can you do that for me?”
He seemed to consider the question, and then he nodded.
“More than one bite,” I said.
He nodded again.
Relieved, I smiled. “Good.”
The rest of the morning was less eventful as I grabbed my traveling mug of coffee that saidHouston’s #1 Realtor—a gift from Brandon. He’d given it to me as a joke three years ago. I tried not to think about the fact that I’d never receive another gag gift from him again.
I picked up my satchel and guided Noah out the door with his breakfast in hand.
Almost twenty minutes later, I pulled onto the schoolgrounds and parked. Noah sat in the backseat with a half-eaten Pop-Tart and an empty kids’ travel tumbler.
“Ready to go inside?” I asked, eyeing him in the rearview mirror. He’d put the mask back on.
He nodded.
We walked across the parking lot, me holding his hand, his backpack in my other hand, and his cape fluttering behind him like a real superhero on a mission.
His teacher, Mrs. Hinds, was waiting at the classroom door—an older Black woman with kind eyes and graying black hair. A warm smile touched her lips when she saw us.
“Hello, Noah!” she said with enthusiasm. “Welcome back. We’ve missed you.”
He responded by gripping my hand tighter.
“I love your Robin costume,” she added.
I cleared my throat. “Mind if I speak to you for a quick minute?” I asked.
“Certainly.” She gestured to her assistant, who came to the door and extended a hand to Noah.
He looked up at me.
“It’s okay,” I assured him.
He went to her, looking back once before allowing her to lead him to his desk.
I turned to Mrs. Hinds. “I’m sorry about the costume. I tried to get him to change, but he got really upset. I was told not to push him to wear anything else, that the suit probably provides comfort because of what happened.”
Her expression softened. “It’s perfectly fine and not uncommon. We’ve had children arrive at school dressed as princesses, ballerinas, in their pajamas—believe me, it’s not a problem. If this helps him feel safe and comfortable, we can accommodate him.”
“Glad to hear that.”
“The counselor spoke with the teaching staff about what happened. She spoke to Ms. Richmond, the child advocate. We’re well aware of what he’s been through and are here to support you and him.”
Tension drained from my body at her words. Julia had kept her word and had been working behind the scenes. She had done another check-in last week, but our conversation had been brief.
“That means a lot. I just want to make sure he’s okay.”
“Don’t you worry. We’ll keep an eye on him and call you if there are any problems.” She briefly touched my arm. “Don’t fret too much. Pick your battles. And FYI, kids are awfully resilient. Give him time.”
Her reassurance was exactly what I needed since I was doubting myself. In some ways, I felt like I was drowning in a whirlpool and he was being sucked down with me.
