My husband, Joe, had died three years earlier, not long after his business collapsed.

There had been a scandal. People questioned whether the decision that ruined the company had been part of something corrupt.

The pressure had been too much for Joe. He suffered a heart attack.

But even then, the whispers didn’t stop. If anything, they grew worse.

His former business partner had even released a statement to calm the rumors around Joe’s death.

His words haunted me for years.

I could still picture his composed expression as he answered questions about the “convenient timing” of Joe’s death, and how calmly Daniel had suggested that the stress and guilt Joe carried likely led to his heart attack.

It was true, but hearing someone say it like Joe had deserved it broke something inside me.

I had spent years shielding Emma from those ugly stories. Somewhere along the way, I must have done something right.

I had sat beside her and pulled her into my arms.

“That was a beautiful thing you did,” I whispered. “But next time, you tell me. We’ll do it together.”

Now, driving to the school, that memory sat heavy in my chest.

When I arrived, the principal was waiting outside his office.

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” he said.

“What happened?”

“Someone is here asking for Emma. He’s sitting in my office right now waiting for you.”

“What’s going on here?”

The principal lowered his head. “He didn’t introduce himself. He only said that you know him.”

“Where is Emma?”

“She’s in the counseling room. She’s okay.” He glanced back at the office door. “The man inside asked to see her first. When we told him we needed to call you, he said that was fine. He’d wait for you.”

I placed my hand on the handle and paused.

I knew, even before opening the door, that whatever waited on the other side was going to change something.

I pushed it open.