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Of course. I’ll—
Then my eyes fell back to the threatening note.
I stopped.
Suddenly, memories began arriving one after another.
The choir concert where Linda had recorded Emily because I couldn’t attend.
The science fair where Emily won second place and I arrived only as everyone was cleaning up.
Her father was often away for work.
And somehow I had convinced myself that if Linda attended, Emily wasn’t really missing a parent.
I looked at my half-finished reply.
Then I deleted it.
Instead, I wrote:
I can’t. My daughter needs me tonight. I won’t be coming back in.
My finger hovered over send.
For twelve years, I had answered every urgent work message.
Every request.
Every last-minute favor.
Not tonight.
I sent it.
Melissa responded almost immediately.
Excuse me? We’ve discussed this. If you leave us hanging today, don’t bother coming in tomorrow.
My hands shook.
I typed:
I understand. I’m still not coming.
Then I put the phone facedown.
Upstairs, I found a soft blue dress Emily had chosen for me at Target two summers earlier.
“You look like a mom in that,” she had told me.
I hadn’t worn it since.
I put it on.
My phone buzzed again downstairs.
I ignored it.
Then I folded the threatening note carefully, placed it in my purse, and drove to Emily’s school.
The auditorium was already dimming when I arrived.
I slipped inside and scanned the stage.
There she was.
Third row.
Second from the left.
Emily stood under the stage lights wearing her white choir shirt.
Her short hair looked completely different.
I found an empty seat in the back.
Then I noticed the girl standing beside her.
Maya.
Near the side aisle, three older girls were whispering and laughing.
One of them said,
“The gum should’ve been stuck closer to the roots.”
My whole body went cold.
Then the concert began.
After the first song, Emily walked toward the microphone.
I vaguely remembered the choir tradition.
After each performance, one student was allowed to publicly thank someone important to them.
Emily looked nervous.
Then she spoke.
“A few days ago, something happened to my friend Maya.”
The room became quiet.
“Some girls put gum in her hair.”
Maya lowered her head.
“A lot of gum,” Emily continued. “She was crying in the bathroom because she was afraid everyone would laugh at her.”
I looked properly at Maya for the first time.
Her hair was short.
Uneven around the ears.
Almost exactly like Emily’s.
My breath caught.
Emily continued.
“I called Grandma.”
Linda was sitting several rows ahead of me.
“She came to get us and took Maya to a salon. The stylist tried everything, but they couldn’t save her hair.”