“Why didn’t you tell me, Em?”
“She’s not wrong,” Mark added.
“So your solution was to facilitate a disappearance?” I asked him.
Mark sighed. “She was throwing up every morning, Zoe. Actual, physical sickness from the stress. I thought I could just give her a few days to breathe while we figured out a plan.”
“A plan involves talking to the other parent. What was the endgame here?”
“She was throwing up every morning, Zoe.”
Mark reached into the center console and pulled out a yellow legal pad. It was covered in Emily’s neat, looped handwriting.
“We were writing it out. I told her that if she reported it clearly — dates, names, specific incidents — the school has to act. We were drafting a formal complaint.”
Emily rubbed her sleeve across her face. “I was going to send it. Eventually.”
“When?” I asked.
“The school has to act.”
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 safe place where she didn’t feel pressured.”
“This isn’t about sides, Mark. This is about being a parent. We have to be the adults, even when it makes them mad at us.”
“I know,” he said.
