“The other girls… They hate me. It’s not just one person. It’s all of them. They move their bags when I try to sit down. They whisper ‘try-hard’ every time I answer a question in English. In the gym, they act like I’m invisible. They won’t even pass me the ball.”
A sharp ache hit my chest. “Why didn’t you tell me, Em?”
“Because I knew you’d storm into the principal’s office and make a huge scene. Then they’d hate me even more for being a snitch.”
“She’s not wrong,” Mark added quietly.
“So your solution was to stage a disappearance?” I asked him.
Mark sighed. “She was throwing up every morning, Zoe. Real, physical sickness from the stress. I thought I could give her a few days to breathe while we figured out a plan.”
“A plan involves talking to the other parent. What exactly was the endgame?”
Mark reached into the center console and pulled out a yellow legal pad. It was filled with Emily’s neat, looping handwriting.
“We were writing it all down. I told her that if she reported it clearly — dates, names, specific incidents — the school would have to respond. We were drafting a formal complaint.”
Emily wiped her face with her sleeve. “I was going to send it. Eventually.”
“When?” I asked.
She didn’t answer.
Mark rubbed the back of his neck. “I know I should have called you. I picked up the phone so many times. But she begged me not to. I didn’t want her to feel like I was choosing your side over hers. I wanted her to have one place where she felt safe.”
“This isn’t about sides, Mark. This is about parenting. We have to be the adults, even when they’re mad at us.”
“I know,” he said softly.
And I believed him. He looked like a man who saw his daughter drowning and grabbed the first rope within reach — even if it was frayed.
I turned to Emily. “Skipping school doesn’t make them stop, sweetheart. It just hands them more power.”
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