You don’t hate her #2
His gaze darts briefly toward the school entrance before coming back to me. Constantly checking, constantly tracking. Then he leans in for a moment, as though he might kiss me, but instead holds out his hand to help me out.
His thumb gently brushes along the inside of my wrist, subtle enough that nobody else would notice. Just enough contact to anchor me. Or him. Probably both of us.
“Let’s go,” he murmurs.
When we get to the school doors, the afternoon crowd is thicker. And when the bell chimes, kids spill out in waves, laughter and shouting and backpacks thumping against legs. Teachers stand near the entrance, ticking names off lists.
Evan steps slightly ahead of me without meaning to, or maybe he does. His shoulders are squared, eyes scanning the perimeter in a way that makes me both ache and ease at the same time.
Elle bursts through the doors with two other girls, ponytail swinging.
“Daddy!” She spots him instantly, surprise lighting up her whole face. “You’re early!”
He drops to one knee so she can crash into him properly, hugging her tight enough that her sneakers lift briefly off the ground.
“Yeah, bug,” he says. “Thought I’d come get you with Penny today.”
“Okay.” She smiles easily at me, completely unbothered as Evan stands again, and takes hold of her hand. “Cora got glitter glue in her hair, and Mrs. Patel had to cut some out.”
We walk out with her between us, and she takes my hand too, her fingers warm and small in mine. Evan glances down at our hands, and some of the tightness in his face eases for half a second.
We’re almost through the gates when I see Stacey before Evan does. She’s leaning against the low brick wall just outside the school grounds, arms folded and watching.
Evan feels it a second later, because his hand tightens around Elle’s without him looking, and every line of him goes rigid.
Stacey steps forward.
“Hey, Ev,” she says, then looks down with a smile. “Hi, Elle.”
Evan stops, and there’s a beat where no one else around us seems to notice the shift in the air. Then he turns his head slightly toward me, not taking his eyes off her.
“Take her, Penny,” he says calmly. “Car. Now.”
There’s no room for argument in it, and I don’t give him any.
“Come on, bug,” I say brightly, squeezing Elle’s hand. “Let’s race to the car!”
She hesitates just long enough to look back at the woman, and her brow furrows. Confusion flickers there, maybe a memory trying to surface and not quite making it.
“Daddy?” she asks.
“I’ll be right there,” he says evenly, then glances to me. “I’ll drive.”
I don’t look at Stacey as I guide Elle away, but I can feel her eyes on my back anyway.
At the car, I buckle Elle into her booster with hands that are calm because they have to be. She twists in her seat to see over her shoulder.
“Who is that lady?” she whispers.
“Sit back, sweetheart,” I say gently. “You wanna have penguin pancakes for dinner tonight?”
“With chocolate chips?” she asks automatically, still trying to look over my shoulder.
“Obviously.”
Her little forehead stays wrinkled as I close the door and walk around to the passenger’s side, but I don’t get in straight away.
I watch. Evan stands a few feet from Stacey, posture loose in a way that isn’t relaxed.
One hand braced on his hip, the other hanging at his side. He keeps the distance deliberate.
I can’t hear most of it through the glass once I’m inside, but I see enough.
Stacey’s hands move, gesturing with open palms as she talks. Trying to placate, I assume. Evan doesn’t mirror her, and he doesn’t step closer. At one point, she reaches toward his arm, and he steps back half a pace. Her mouth tightens, and he says something that seems short and final.
“Daddy looks mad,” Elle says quietly from the back seat.
My eyes flick to the mirror. She’s watching him carefully through the glass, her small fingers twisting in the strap of her backpack.
“He’s just having a grown-up conversation,” I tell her gently, even though the tension rolling off him is visible from here.
After another minute, Stacey says something that makes him roll his eyes, and she looks past him toward the car, where our eyes lock through the windshield.
I don’t look away.
She stares me down for a moment, then turns and walks down the pavement without another word, and Evan stays where he is until she’s halfway to the corner, then he comes back to us.
He gets in the driver’s seat without a word, hands gripping the wheel before he exhales.
“She won’t come back near the school,” he says. “They’ve got her name at the office.”
I nod as he finally turns to me, and reach out to place a palm on his thigh. “Let’s go home.”
We’re barely out of the school zone when Elle speaks.
“Who was that lady?”
Evan’s hands stay steady on the wheel, and I don’t answer. It’s not my place to.
“She said my name,” Elle continues. “Like she knew who I was.”
There’s a pause, long enough that I can feel Evan choosing his words carefully.
“She’s someone I used to know,” he says evenly.
Elle twists the strap of her backpack around her fingers. “Why was she at my school?”
She shouldn’t have been. And the questions and confusion filling this five-year-old’s head would’ve been avoided if Stacey hadn’t just randomly turned up.
“She wasn’t supposed to be,” he says calmly. “The school knows that.”
“Oh.” Elle goes quiet again, thinking.
“She looked at you funny,” she adds after a second.
The tendons in Evan’s forearm flex against the steering wheel, and he exhales slowly through his nose. “Sometimes grown-ups make choices that mean they have to follow certain rules,” he says. “And if they don’t follow the rules, they don’t get to do things like be at schools.”
“Is she in trouble?” Elle asks.
“She will be if she keeps not following the rules,” he mutters.
I glance at him, full of understanding. This is him in command of something that could spiral if he lets it.
Elle leans back in her seat, but she doesn’t ask anything more, instead looking out the window as we drive.
I watch the reflection of her in the mirror for a moment.
She isn’t distressed or frightened, but probably a little unsettled in that quiet way kids are when something doesn’t fit properly in their world.
Evan doesn’t speak again until we turn onto our street.
“I’ve already spoken to the principal,” he says to me now. “If she shows up again, they’ll call the PD first.”
I nod. “Good.”
He pulls into the driveway and kills the engine, but he doesn’t move right away. For a second, the house looks like it did this morning—ordinary and safe. Only now I know how thin that line can feel. And I understand, very clearly, why he has full custody.
This isn’t about nostalgia or getting a glimpse at the kid she abandoned. This is about boundaries. And she’s already crossed one.
When we’re inside, Elle disappears into her room to build a blanket fort with Gus. I walk into the kitchen to prep a snack for her, and Evan stands at the kitchen counter with both palms braced against the marble. He hasn’t taken his boots off.
“She looked sober,” he says finally.
I lean back against the opposite counter, giving him space. “I thought so too.”
“She wasn’t shaking, eyes were clear. Didn’t smell it on her.” He drags a hand over his mouth, running through a checklist he knows too well. “That doesn’t mean anything long term, though.”
“No,” I agree softly. “It doesn’t.”
He pushes away from the counter and starts pacing the length of the kitchen.
“And she knows the steps,” he says. “She knows exactly what she has to do if she wants contact. Supervised visits, paperwork, drug tests.” His jaw tightens. “She hasn’t done any of it.”
I nod, because turning up at a school isn’t a first step. It’s a shortcut. And shortcuts are how Elle gets hurt.
“I don’t want you thinking I’m being cruel,” he says suddenly, stopping in front of me and studying me, searching for any doubt.
“I don’t, Ev.”
“I’m not going to let her just… slide back in,” he continues. “She doesn’t get to do that.”
“She shouldn’t,” I say.