Her face crumpled.
“Yes.”
He stared at her.
“You didn’t show me this morning.”
Greta’s voice became tiny.
“I knew you wouldn’t help me if you saw it.”
Owen leaned back.
He had spent the entire morning defending a version of the story Greta had carefully edited.
That didn’t mean the bullying wasn’t real.
It was.
But Greta’s retaliation was real too.
And I wasn’t going to excuse one because of the other.
The other mother started speaking again, but Owen interrupted.
“She was being bullied for weeks—”
“Owen.”
I didn’t raise my voice.
“I’ve got this.”
He stopped.
And for the first time that day, he sat back and let me be Greta’s mother.
I looked at the other woman.
“I’ve seen what Greta did now. It was wrong, and there will be consequences.”
Then I pointed toward the messages.
“But what she did doesn’t erase what happened before it.”
Karen nodded.
“Exactly. Neither child gets a free pass.”
Then Greta whispered,
“I just want to go home.”
Part of me wanted to take her immediately.
