Ivy seemed like someone who genuinely cared.
But her kindness always came with questions.
“Does Nathan ever send money for Joel?”
“Not really.”
“Is Joel still interested in swimming lessons?”
“He is, but we can’t afford them right now.”
“Are you seeing anyone, Sarah?”
I laughed tiredly.
“I barely have enough time to sleep.”
She would nod sympathetically.
Then ask another question.
Sometimes she wanted to know where Joel went after school.
Other times she asked whether he’d been happy lately.
She seemed particularly curious about whether Nathan had contacted us.
I assumed she was simply concerned.
I never imagined she might be gathering information for someone else.
Five years after Nathan left, Joel was eleven.
He’d grown into a thoughtful, creative boy who loved building things from cardboard boxes, scraps of fabric, and anything else he could find.
That Friday, I finally agreed to let him walk home from school by himself.
