The school didn’t even call me first.
I got a text from another parent—just one line: “Your daughter’s okay, but you need to get here.”
My heart stopped.
By the time I got to the school parking lot, the chaos had mostly settled. Teachers were ushering kids back inside. An ambulance was just pulling away. And there was my daughter—shaken but completely unharmed, clutching her backpack like it was a life vest.
Then I saw him.
Sitting on a folding chair outside the nurse’s office, blue cast already being wrapped around his arm. No tears. Just this calm, quiet look on his face, like none of it was a big deal.
“Is that the boy who—?”
