Chapter 10 #2
“Her name is Kelsie,” he says as we pull into the parking lot. “Michaela’s mother. Left when Michaela was barely old enough to walk. Signed away her parental rights six months later.” His hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Haven’t heard from her since. Until today.”
“She can’t actually take her, right? Legally?”
“No. But that doesn’t mean she can’t cause chaos.” He kills the engine. “Which is exactly what she’s good at.”
We walk into the building together. The front office is all warm wood and inspirational posters, designed to make parents feel as though their children are in capable hands. A woman behind the desk recognizes David immediately.
“Mr. Kingsley. Principal Harrison is waiting for you in her office. Michaela is with her—she’s fine, just a little shaken up.”
“Thank you.” David is already moving down the hall.
I follow, feeling distinctly out of place. This is not my world—children and schools and custody battles. My world is code and data and problems with clean solutions. But David asked me to come, or at least didn’t refuse when I offered, and that feels like it matters.
The principal’s office is at the end of the hall. David knocks once and enters without waiting for a response.
“Daddy!”
Michaela launches herself at David the moment he’s through the door. She’s small for eight, with dark hair pulled into uneven pigtails and her father’s serious eyes. Right now those eyes are red-rimmed, her lower lip trembling despite obvious efforts to be brave.
“Hey, monster.” David drops to his knees, pulling her into a hug. “You’re OK. I’ve got you.”
“She called me over to the fence at playtime and said she was my mom.” Michaela’s voice is muffled against his shoulder. “But she didn’t feel like a mom. She felt like a stranger, so I called the teacher.”
“You did exactly the right thing, sweetheart.”
I hang back near the door, trying to be invisible. This is a family moment, private and painful, and I’m an interloper.
But then Michaela pulls back from David and notices me.
“Uncle Logan?” She sniffles, confusion cutting through the tears. “What are you doing here?”
“I was with your dad when he got the call. Thought I’d tag along.” I attempt a smile. “Moral support.”
She considers this with the gravity only an eight-year-old can muster. “That’s nice of you. Dad needs moral support sometimes. He pretends he doesn’t, but I can tell.”
“Michaela,” David says, a warning in his tone.
“What? It’s true.” She looks back at me. “Are you going to wait with me while Dad talks to Principal Harrison? She said they need to discuss ‘security protocols.’” She makes air quotes. “That means grown-up stuff I’m not supposed to hear.”
“That’s exactly why I’m here,” I say. “You can tell me all about your latest mock trial.”
Michaela beams. “Can we talk about whether dolphins are smarter than dogs?”
“We can talk about anything you want.”
David stands, one hand still resting on Michaela’s head. “OK, then. You go with Uncle Logan and I’ll be as quick as I can.”
“Take your time.” I gesture toward the chairs along the wall. “I’m dying to know the verdict on dogs versus dolphins.”
David’s mouth twitches—the first hint of a smile since the phone call. “Behave. Both of you.”
He disappears into the inner office, where I catch a glimpse of a woman with auburn hair and a concerned expression before the door closes.
Michaela climbs into one of the chairs, her legs swinging well above the floor. She pats the seat next to her.
“Sit,” she commands. “You look like you need to sit. Dad says standing when you don’t have to is a waste of energy.”
I sit. “Your dad’s a smart man.”
“I know. It’s genetic.” She studies me with unsettling intensity. “Why were you with my dad today? You usually only hang out when Uncle Dominic makes everyone.”
“I needed to talk to him about something.”
“What kind of something?”
“Grown-up stuff.”
She rolls her eyes. “Everyone always says that. It’s never as complicated as you think it is.”
“This might be.”
“Try me.”
I shouldn’t. She’s eight. This is wildly inappropriate. But there’s something about Michaela’s matter-of-fact demeanor that makes me want to test her theory.
“I like someone,” I say carefully. “But I did something that hurt her feelings. And now I don’t know how to fix it.”
Michaela nods sagely. “Did you say sorry?”
“Yes.”
“Did you mean it?”
“Yes.”
“Did you explain why you did the thing that hurt her feelings?”
I hesitate. “Not... exactly.”
“Well, there’s your problem.” She says it like it’s obvious. Like I’m the eight-year-old and she’s the adult. “People can’t forgive you if they don’t understand. That’s what Dad always says. ‘Explain your reasoning, Michaela. Help me understand.’”
The words hit me like a system reboot.
People can’t forgive you if they don’t understand.
That’s it. That’s the whole problem.
I’ve been waiting for Audrey to solve me like a puzzle—to read between the lines, to somehow figure it out on her own. But she can’t forgive what she doesn’t understand. And she can’t understand what I won’t explain.
An eight-year-old just diagnosed my entire romantic dysfunction in ten seconds flat.
“Some things are hard to explain,” I say finally, but the words feel hollow now. An excuse I’m not sure I believe anymore.
Michaela considers this with unsettling intensity. “Is she pretty? The person you like?”
“Very.”
“Is she smart?”
“Smarter than me, probably.”
“Then she’ll understand.” Michaela says it with absolute confidence. “Smart people are good at understanding things. That’s what makes them smart.”
I want to argue. I want to explain that intelligence doesn’t automatically translate to emotional generosity. That understanding something intellectually isn’t the same as accepting it. That Audrey might understand perfectly well and still decide I’m not worth the trouble.
But I don’t. Because this eight-year-old obviously has more faith in people than I do. And maybe that’s not naivety. Maybe that’s wisdom I’ve forgotten how to access.
“She’s not smarter than me, though?” Michaela adds.
I smile despite myself. “I don’t think anyone’s smarter than you.”
With a curt nod, she shifts to watching her swinging feet. “Except maybe dolphins. Did you know they sleep with only half of their brain?”
“I read that. It’s called unihemispheric slow-wave sleep.”
She lifts her head and gives me a bright smile. “I knew you’d know the big name for it. We’re doing a class project on animal intelligence this term. So far we’ve covered dogs and now dolphins.”
I glance at the closed door, as if I might see through the wood to where David is fighting for his kid again. “I was always a dog person, but dolphins are objectively more interesting.”
She wags a finger. “The plural is ‘delphinids.’”
“Is it really?”
“In science, it is.”
“Then I stand corrected.” I fold my hands. “So what’s the main argument for dogs?”
“They’re loyal. They never run away even if you yell. Dolphins sometimes leave their pods. But dogs don’t. Unless you’re a bad owner or there’s bacon.”
“That tracks,” I say, and for a minute, the world rights itself. “Are you nervous about what happened today?”
She shrugs, but there’s a heaviness in her little shoulders.
“I guess. I used to always wish I had a mom like the other kids. But now, I think it would be weird.” She goes back to kicking her feet again, thinking.
“It was weird seeing her. Like, it felt like I should remember her, but there was just nothing up in my brain about her. She said she was going to take me to live with her. That was a bit worrisome. But I knew I wouldn’t have to. ”
“How did you know?”
She shrugs again, pulling at the end of her braid. “My dad said if anyone ever came that I didn’t trust, I had to find Ms. Patel and tell her first. He said he’s the only one who gets to decide. And so I did.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat. I wish I’d ever once had that kind of faith in a parent.
“That was smart,” I tell her. “You did exactly the right thing.”
She beams. “Dad says I analyze well under pressure. When I grow up, I’m going to be a Supreme Court judge, except I want to do science stuff too. Is there a job that does both?”
“You could be a forensic scientist. Or maybe a biomedical patent judge. Or you could make up a new job entirely. That’s allowed.”
She considers this with a serious, almost frightening degree of intent. “I’m going to invent a new job then. I’ll be famous for it.”
The inner office door opens. David emerges first, looking slightly less tense than when he went in.
Behind him is Principal Harrison—Nora, according to the nameplate I clocked on the way in.
She’s removed her blazer at some point, and there’s a coffee stain on the sleeve of her blouse that she keeps trying to cover with her hand.
The small imperfection makes her seem more human. More... approachable.
Michaela leans in conspiratorially. “You know, if things don’t work out with your lady friend, my principal is single. She’s pretty and smart too.”
I glance up in time to see Principal Harrison resting one hand lightly on David’s arm.
She’s younger than I expected. Late thirties, maybe, with auburn hair pulled back in a loose twist and green eyes that gaze up at David with an expression that’s trying very hard to be professional concern, but is landing somewhere closer to something else entirely.
“Oh, scratch that,” Michaela stage-whispers. “I think she’s in love with my dad.”
I choke on nothing. “What?”
“Principal Harrison,” Michaela says, in the same tone you’d use if explaining basic multiplication to someone with a low IQ. “She’s got stars in her eyes for my dad. So you can’t date her. Sorry to get your hopes up.”
“What? I—”
“Michaela.” Principal Harrison’s voice is gentle as they approach. “How are you feeling?”
“Better now that Dad’s here.” Michaela slides off her chair. “Can I go back to class? I have a spelling test and I’m going to dominate.”
Principal Harrison’s mouth quirks. “I have no doubt. But let’s give you a few more minutes, OK? Just to make sure you’re settled.”
“I’m settled. I’m extremely settled.” Michaela turns to David. “Tell her I’m settled.”
“She’s settled,” David confirms, but there’s a warmth in his voice that suggests he’s grateful for the principal’s caution.
“Five more minutes,” Principal Harrison says. “Then Margaret will walk you back. Deal?”
Michaela sighs dramatically, but nods. “Deal.”
The principal turns to David. “Mr. Kingsley, if you have any other questions, please don’t hesitate to reach out. We take situations like this very seriously, and I want to assure you that Michaela’s safety is our top priority.”
“I appreciate that.” David extends his hand. “Thank you for handling this so well.”
She takes his hand, and I watch something flicker between them—a moment that extends well beyond a professional handshake. Her cheeks flush. His grip lingers.
Michaela catches my eye and blinks rapidly, mimicking starry eyes.
“See?” she whispers. “Stars.”