Chapter Seven
Mindy
Mrs. West, the school director, welcomes me with a warm smile as I enter her office.
"Miss Williams," she says from behind her desk. "Please, take a seat."
Mrs. West is a woman in her middle years with respect and professionalism etched into her features. Even her attire is professional, as it should be for someone in her position. She’s wearing a smart black suit and a crisp white blouse. Her desk looks clean and organized, the total opposite of my own desk, back at the office.
My nerves are on fire and my anxiety is through the roof. When the school principal demands my presence in her office at six in the afternoon, it can’t mean anything good.
My mind races with worst-case scenarios.
Sharon will be kicked out of school, and I’ll have to find another one for her. That means I’ll have to change the logistics of getting her to school every morning and picking her up in the afternoon. Unless I pay someone to do it, which I can’t afford. Not to mention that Sharon would need to adjust again to the new environment. I really don’t want to put her through all of that.
"I wanted to discuss Sharon with you, Miss Williams," Mrs. West begins, her tone gentle but firm.
I gulp. "Miss Evans mentioned that she had a tough day today," I say gingerly.
"She did, indeed," Mrs. West confirms. "But the reason I asked you to come and talk to me is…" For a moment, she seems like she’s looking for the right words." Well, it's something more… serious."
My heart skips a beat.
"But before we get to that, can you tell me about your family situation, Miss Williams?"
The question catches me off guard. What is it that she wants me to tell her? Do I tell her about the stress that comes with being a working single mom? What it’s like to work full-time in New York City and raise a daughter at the same time? Do I tell her that my daughter is growing up without her father because he got shot before she was even born? Or the overwhelming longing I still have for Maron Korolev after all this time?
"Look, Mrs. West, I'm a single mom," I tell her, pushing aside the thoughts invading my mind. "It's just me and Sharon." My voice catches slightly as I continue, "I know she needs more attention than other kids, but I commute every day and work full time. And as I’m sure you know, raising a child in New York is no walk in the park. Especially without a father."
I pause, swallowing a lump in my throat. Mrs. West must sense the emotion in my voice, because she responds with an empathetic look.
"I love my daughter more than anything and I’m trying my best." I meet Mrs. West’s eyes.
Mrs. West’s face softens, and she nods slowly. "I appreciate your honesty, Miss Williams. Your situation helps provide context for what we’re seeing with Sharon." She pauses, allowing her words to sink in. "I’m sure Miss Evans told you what happened today, which is why I wanted to talk to you."
My heart rate picks up again. "All she mentioned was that she had a difficult day. Is there something else I should know?"
Mrs. West folds her hands on the desk, her expression turning more serious. "Let me put things in context for you, Miss Williams. Some of the other students have been calling Sharon names, apparently because she doesn’t have a father. Can you tell me something about him?"
Shit.
Calling her names?
Because she doesn’t have a father?
Suddenly, my palm itches at the thought of wanting to slap those other students. Then, my mind drifts to Sharon’s questions about her dad last night. My heart sinks.
"Sharon’s father is not in our lives," I tell Mrs. West, carefully hiding the emotion in my voice. "She does ask about him, though. I told her he's with the angels… which is the truth." I admit quietly.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Mrs. West says gently. "Children can be cruel to each other sometimes. In response to the other kids’ bullying, Sharon had an episode of anger and lashed out. That's why she had to be separated. But we're more concerned about a pattern we've noticed in her behavior."
I brace myself, sensing that we're getting to the heart of the matter. "What kind of pattern?"
Mrs. West takes a deep breath before continuing. "Sharon won't talk to any of her peers. And sometimes, when she doesn't like something, she would lash out. In fact, we're in October now, and she hasn't spoken a single word to anyone in her class."
The revelation hits me like a ton of bricks. I knew Sharon was quiet and reserved, but I had no idea it was this serious. As the shock wears off, I find myself connecting this new information with my own observations and worries about how her social skills are developing.
I gape at Mrs. West. "But she talks to me and her babysitter all the time."
Mrs. West nods, her expression understanding but grave. "That is a good sign," she says. "It shows that Sharon has the ability to speak. It also shows that she chooses not to do it in certain situations. This selective behavior is what we need to address."
I hesitate before asking, "Is that something we should be concerned about?"
"I'm afraid it is, Miss Williams." Mrs. West’s tone changes slightly. "Children her age should not be isolating themselves and refusing to communicate with their peers. So, as educators, it is our responsibility to assess her. Our speech therapist evaluated Sharon, and she has completed a thorough assessment."
"Oh," I say, surprised. "May I know the result of this assessment?"
"I’m pleased to say that Sharon is perfectly healthy, and her cognitive functions are normal," Mrs. West says, a small smile appearing on her face. "However, it seems that she has something called selective mutism."
"Selective mutism?" I ask, feeling confused. This is the first time I hear the term.
"It’s a rare psychological condition," Mrs. West explains. "We don't exactly know how it develops, but it means that Sharon picks who she talks to. And it seems she’s only willing to talk to a select few people."
I guess I shouldn't be surprised, knowing my daughter. Yet still, Mrs. West’s words hit me like a slap in the face. For the first three years of Sharon’s life, she didn’t utter a single word. I was at a loss as to what to do. I remember staying up all night, scrolling through websites, trying to figure out why my perfect little angel is refusing to speak. She barely even babbled as a baby! Sometimes, it got so bad that Sharon would get mad at me because she couldn't express herself. Fortunately, her preschool offered free therapy services, which helped her progress.
"Some children simply take longer to develop their language skills, Miss Williams," the speech therapist had reassured me when I was feeling down about my daughter's late development. "Sharon is doing great and there is no reason to worry."
And she did do great. Her speech development picked up, and one day, she started to speak, and hasn't stopped since. I don't even understand how it is possible that she refuses to talk to her classmates.
I'm still struggling to wrap my head around all of this. What am I supposed to do with this information? Do we need to get her to therapy? How often? Who will even take her?
"What are our options?" I choke out, hoping that my thoughts will stop spiraling out of control.
Mrs. West leans forward, her expression determined. "We want to help Sharon overcome this," she says. "We are going to have a big school event in a few weeks’ time. It’s called Story Night. One of our generous patrons decided to support the school financially so that talented kids have an opportunity to shine. Each student will perform their own original story in front of an audience. And Sharon’s teachers and I all agree that it’s a good idea to include her in the roster."
My heart sinks. I know how much Sharon struggles with shyness and social anxiety, and the thought of her having to perform in front of a crowd doesn’t exactly make me feel easy.
"Are you sure that’s a good idea?" I ask. "Don’t you think that would be too much too soon?"
Mrs. West nods, with understanding in her expression. "I know it seems daunting," she says. "But we believe that with the right support and preparation, Sharon can do this. In fact, I believe she needs to see that she can do this. It's an opportunity for her to challenge herself, to push past her fears and find her voice."
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. I want to believe that Mrs. West is right, that Sharon is capable of more than I give her credit for. But the thought of my little girl standing alone on a stage in front of a crowd makes me want to grab her and run away.
"I just don’t want to put too much pressure on her. Or put her through unnecessary stress," I tell Mrs. West.
Mrs. West reaches across the desk, placing her hand on top of mine. "I understand," she says, her voice soothing. "But sometimes, a little push is exactly what a child needs to grow. We’ll be with Sharon every step of the way, supporting her and cheering her on. And you'll be there too, showing her that she's loved and accepted, no matter what."
I nod, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I know that Mrs. West has a point. I can’t protect my daughter from every challenge and obstacle in life. She has to learn to navigate the world on her own, because one day, I won’t be here to shield her. But I also know that as long as I’m around, I'll be there to catch her if she falls, and I’ll love her unconditionally, no matter what.
"Alright." I nod, letting out a sigh of relief. "What time is Story Night scheduled for?"
Mrs. West smiles and replies, "I'll send out an email to all the parents as soon as the date is confirmed." She studies my face for a moment before continuing, "Miss Williams, I must impress upon you the importance of attending. I understand you have a demanding job and many obligations, but it will mean the world to Sharon for her mother to see her achievements." She pauses. "I would go as far as saying that her ability to speak depends on it."
"Of course, Mrs. West," I tell her quietly. "Of course, I’ll be there."