That afternoon, I arrived for pickup 20 minutes early for the first time in months. I scanned the sidewalks, the crosswalk, and the bench. Nothing. No red scarf. No gray hair.
When Ethan climbed into the car, he looked disappointed.
I couldn’t shake the guilt.
“Where’s the nice lady today, Mommy?” my son asked.
I gripped the steering wheel.
“Ethan, that lady. Did she ever give you anything?”
He hesitated.
“One time, she gave me a butterscotch candy. When it was raining, and you were really, really late.”
The word “late” hit me like a slap. I snapped before I could stop myself.
“Did she ever give you anything?”
“Ethan, you don’t take things from strangers. Ever. Do you understand me?!”
His lower lip trembled.
“But she’s nice, Mommy. She’s not a stranger,” he mumbled.
Tears spilled down his cheeks, and Biscuit whined from the back seat as if even he knew I’d overreacted. I pulled over and pressed my forehead against the steering wheel, whispering an apology I wasn’t sure he heard.
His lower lip trembled.
***
Principal Davis called that night. His voice was careful.
“Rachel, I reviewed two weeks of footage. An elderly woman is wearing a red scarf, exactly as you described. She sits on the bench near the gate around dismissal every day.”
“Does she approach him?” I asked.
“She sits down beside him. They talk. She never touches him except when he shows her something in that little book you packed. Then your car pulls up, and she leaves. Every single clip ends the same way, Rachel. When you arrive.”
“I reviewed two weeks of footage.”
I closed my eyes. Every clip ended with me. Late.
“Tomorrow,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I want to confront her. Hopefully tomorrow.”
“I’ll have Mrs. Alvarez stationed at the gate at dismissal,” the principal said. “She won’t intervene unless we need her to, but she’ll be there the whole time, so you can approach the woman safely. You won’t be doing this alone.”
Every clip ended with me.
I thanked him, hung up, and stared at the fridge covered in Ethan’s drawings.
That woman had been in my son’s life for months, and I hadn’t noticed because I hadn’t been looking.
Whoever she was, I hoped to find out in the morning. And I wasn’t sure anymore whether I was more afraid of her or of what she’d say about me.
***
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