Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Boone
Sadie eats her cereal without spilling a drop.
That’s how I know.
She’s careful when she’s trying not to be noticed. Every movement measured. Spoon quiet against the bowl. Elbows tucked in. She’s afraid taking up space will invite trouble.
I watch her over my coffee and try not to let the anger show. Not at her. Never at her. At the world, maybe. At the fact that my kid is six years old and already learning the skill of shrinking.
“How you feeling about today?”
She nods without looking up. “Good.”
Too fast.
I don’t push. I’ve been trying not to. I’ve been trying to listen without turning it into a damn interrogation. I keep thinking if I do it right, she’ll tell me what’s going on.
But it’s as hard as trying to catch smoke.
Delaney moves quietly around the kitchen, packing Sadie’s lunch. She’s got that calm competence that makes everything feel less sharp. She slides an apple into the bag, checks the zipper, then sets it beside Sadie’s backpack, just another part of the routine.
Sadie looks up at her and smiles. Real this time.
That makes my chest kick painfully.
“Ready to go?” I ask.
Sadie hops down, backpack already on. “Yep.”
She’s halfway to the door before she stops and turns back.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re picking me up today, right?”
The question punches straight through my ribs.
“Always,” I say immediately. “Same time. Same spot.”
Her shoulders loosen, just a fraction. She nods once, satisfied, and bolts out the door as if she didn’t just gut me with one sentence.
I don’t move.
Delaney’s gaze flicks to mine with quiet concern. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to.
I grab my keys.
The drive to Mountain Ridge is quiet. No radio. Just tires on pavement and pine trees blurring past. Sadie hums under her breath, twisting the strap of her backpack.
When we pull into the parking lot, the usual madness is already in motion. Kids spilling out, parents clustering in their little groups. The same routine. The same noise.
And there she is.
Carol Spence.
Perfect ponytail. Clipboard. That sharp, polished smile she uses as a blade.
She’s laughing with another mom near the entrance, voice pitched just loud enough to carry. Eli is beside her in one of those collared shirts that’s probably never met grass. He’s got that same pinched little expression, always taking notes on who matters.
Sadie stiffens the second she spots them.
Her hand finds my sleeve without thinking.
That does it.
I’ve tried patience. I’ve tried calm. I’ve tried letting the school handle it.
I’ve tried waiting for Sadie to tell me more.
But there’s a stark difference between who she is at home and how she folds in on herself when it’s time for school.
Even more so right after it—before she’s had time to shake it off.
I’m done.
“Go on,” I tell Sadie gently. “Head inside. I’ll walk you.”
She nods, still holding my sleeve.
I walk her up to the doors and crouch down so I’m level with her.
“Stick with Micah if you want,” I say quietly. “You don’t have to play with anybody you don’t want to.”
She nods again.
Then she’s gone, swallowed up by the crowd and the noise and the building that I hate a little more every day.
I stand there for a beat.
Then I turn.
Carol sees me coming. Her smile tightens. She already knows what this is and intends to win it.
“Boone,” she says brightly. “Good morning.”
“Carol,” I reply. “We need to talk.”
Her eyes flick quickly to the other parents nearby. The audience. The optics.
“Now isn’t really the best time,” she says, still smiling.
“It is for me.”
The smile slips for a fraction. Then it resets, sharper.
“Fine,” she says. “Walk with me.”
We move a few steps away from the doors, still in full view. I don’t lower my voice.
“Your son has still been saying things to my daughter.”
Carol blinks as if she didn’t hear me right. “Excuse me?”
“Eli,” I continue. “He’s still been teasing Sadie.”
Carol laughs.
Actually laughs.
“Oh, Boone.” She waves a hand, treating me as if I’m being ridiculous. “Kids tease. They’re learning social cues. I’m sure it’s being blown out of proportion.”
My jaw clenches. “Sadie comes home quiet. She asked me if it’s bad she doesn’t have a mom. That’s not social cues.”
Carol’s expression sharpens. “Eli would never be intentionally cruel.”
“Intent doesn’t change what it does to her.”
Carol sighs, and it’s the kind of sigh someone gives when they’re forced to entertain a conversation beneath them.
“This feels like you projecting,” she says. “You’ve always been… sensitive about your situation.”
My situation.
My kid’s life is a gossip topic.
“We’ve had this conversation before, Carol. I’m not interested in your opinion of me. What I care about is my daughter. And your son—”
“My son is a good boy,” she snaps.
My hands curl into fists at my sides. I keep them there.
“I see that the conversation with Principal Jenks did little to open your eyes.”
“If Sadie’s uncomfortable,” Carol continues, ignoring me, “maybe that’s something you should address at home.”
I step closer. “Are you suggesting my daughter’s feelings are the problem?”
“I’m suggesting,” she says, her smile turning sweet and poisonous, “that children from… unconventional households sometimes struggle socially.”
I feel heat surge up my throat.
“Say that again,” I warn.
Carol lifts her chin. “Boone—”
A door opens behind us.
“Is there a problem here?”
Principal Marla Jenks steps outside, calm and firm. She takes one look at our faces and reads the whole situation in a heartbeat.
Carol turns, immediately composed. “Oh, Principal Jenks. I was just explaining to Boone that children’s interactions can be misunderstood.”
Jenks’s gaze shifts to me. “Boone?”
“You know my daughter is being teased,” I say flatly. “Repeatedly. And now I’m being told that’s my fault.”
Jenks’s mouth tightens. “Carol, we’ve discussed this.”
Carol stiffens. “And I told you, Eli hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“Multiple children corroborated Sadie’s account,” Jenks says evenly. “Including my nephew.”
Carol’s cheeks flush. “Micah is overly sensitive.”
Jenks doesn’t blink. “Micah is observant.”
The air between us is sharp enough to cut.
Jenks takes a breath, then says, “We’re going inside. All of us. Now.”
Carol hesitates. Glances toward the watching parents. The audience again.
Then she nods, clipped. “Fine.”
The office smells of disinfectant and paper. The posters about kindness are still in place, like a joke.
Jenks sits behind her desk. Carol sits with perfect posture, hands folded. I sit, trying not to break the chair.
“This isn’t about blame,” Jenks begins. “It’s about behavior and its impact.”
“It’s about one child’s feelings,” Carol cuts in.
Jenks’s gaze sharpens. “It’s about repeated comments that have created an unsafe environment for another student.”
Carol scoffs. “Unsafe? That’s dramatic.”
I lean forward. “She’s six.”
Carol’s eyes flick to me, annoyed. “And so is Eli.”
Jenks keeps her tone measured. “Eli has repeatedly commented on Sadie’s family situation. That stops. Today.”
Carol shakes her head. “You’re assuming malicious intent.”
Jenks doesn’t bite. “Intent aside, the behavior stops.”
Carol leans back slightly, settling in for a fight she thinks she can win. “Maybe Sadie needs to learn resilience. The world won’t coddle her.”
My vision goes white around the edges.
“She’s not asking to be coddled,” I snap. “She’s asking to be left alone. Maybe Eli is the one who needs to learn how not to hurt others.”
Jenks holds up a hand. “Enough.”
Carol turns to Jenks. “This is ridiculous. Eli is polite. He’s well-mannered. He’s a leader.”
Jenks stays calm. “Leadership without kindness is just control.”
Carol’s face goes tight. “You’re overstepping.”
Jenks folds her hands on the desk. “No, Carol. I’m doing my job.”
Silence stretches.
Carol stands abruptly. “If this is how the school intends to handle things, I’ll be taking this to the board.”
Jenks nods once. “That is your right.”
Carol looks at me then, eyes hard. “I hope you’re satisfied.”
I stare at her as if she’s lost her damn mind.
“I’m trying to keep my daughter from thinking she’s less than,” I say low. “If that inconveniences you, I don’t care.”
Carol’s nostrils flare. Then she turns and leaves.
The door clicks shut behind her, and the room exhales.
Jenks rubs her temple. “I’m sorry, Boone.”
“So am I,” I mutter. “But what happens now?”
Jenks doesn’t sugarcoat it. “Now we keep supervision tight. And we make it clear to Eli, and to Carol, that this stops here.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
Jenks meets my gaze. “Then we escalate.”
I nod once, throat tight.
I leave the office and walk back through the hallway, past kids’ artwork and cheerful posters, and the sound of classrooms buzzing with normal life.
Normal for everyone else.
Back in the parking lot, the anger hits again, hot and useless.
I can run a ranch. I can handle livestock, payroll, emergencies at two in the morning, busted pipes, sick horses, fences down in a storm.
But I can’t fix this.
I can’t stand between Sadie and every cruel word. I can’t control what kids repeat or what parents excuse. I can’t be in that classroom with her when she goes quiet and decides it’s safer not to speak.
I sit in my truck for a long minute before turning the key.
My hands grip the steering wheel hard enough that my knuckles turn white.
I am trying so damn hard to do right by her.
And I still don’t know if it’s enough.
Because the truth is, I don’t know what else to do.
And that scares me more than Carol Spence ever could.