Chapter Two

Isabelle stood frozen, eyes locked on the woman across from her.

Tiffany.

She hadn’t seen her in years. Maybe, since shortly after the wedding. She had barely remembered someone like that existed. Yet here she was, standing by the coffee table like she belonged.

Isabelle’s frown deepened. “What are you doing here?”

Tiffany blinked, surprised; just for a moment. Then her lips curved slowly and deliberately.

“I came for Ryan,” she said, voice light, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Isabelle didn’t soften. Her tone came sharper.

“I gathered that. I asked why.”

Tiffany didn’t answer. Just smiled again—no, smirked. A subtle, upward curl that wasn’t warmth but provocation.

It sent a chill down Isabelle’s spine.

Miss Donna, standing awkwardly between them with her glasses halfway down her nose, glanced back and forth nervously.

“Um…” she began. “We’ve only ever seen Miss Tiffany before. She’s the one who attended last year’s PTA and usually picks Ryan up.”

Isabelle froze.

What?

She looked back at Tiffany, alarms going off in her head. But, she quickly collected herself and took a step forward.

“That’s my son,” she said. “My husband, Gregory, is his father.”

At this point, the murmurs in the corner seemed to go down suddenly and all the parents were listening in. Tiffany folded her arms loosely.

“Well,” she said sweetly, “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t needed. And Ryan doesn’t seem to mind.”

Isabelle stared at her, trying to piece it together. Tiffany. Gregory. Ryan. How did this woman—his ex—get involved with her child?

And how long had it been going on?

Miss Donna, now visibly flustered, raised a hand in a calming gesture.

“Let’s just… call Ryan and see who he wants to talk to. Alright?”

Isabelle gave a short nod.

Tiffany only smirked.

“Could you bring in the students involved?” Miss Donna asked her colleague.

The other teacher slipped out.

Moments later, the door swung open again, and a line of children shuffled in, some hesitant, others wide-eyed, all clearly aware that something serious had happened.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, they scattered like leaves in the wind. Little arms stretched out toward parents and in a couple of seconds, hugs, whispers, and scolding filled the room.

Then Ryan stepped in.

He paused at the threshold. His eyes swept the room and then locked on them.

Two women.

One word:

“Mommy…?”

Isabelle crouched immediately, arms wide open.

“Come here, baby.”

Her voice was soft and gentle.

But Ryan didn’t move. His gaze darted between her and Tiffany like he’d been handed two stories and couldn’t read either. Then, with a sharp breath, he ran straight into Tiffany’s arms.

She caught him with ease, one hand cradling the back of his head as he buried his face into her stomach.

Isabelle didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

Chairs creaked behind her. Someone shifted uncomfortably and her arms hung mid-air, frozen.

Someone whispered. She couldn’t hear what they said.

She exhaled shakily, trying to anchor herself.

“He must be throwing a tantrum because of this morning,” she told herself.

“Ryan,” she said again, voice firm this time. “Come here. Now.”

Ryan turned. His face twisted as fresh tears welled up and he gripped Tiffany’s sleeve tightly.

“Nooo! I want Mommy Tiffany!”

Gasps echoed through the room at that.

Tiffany smiled. A taunting smile of victory that stung Isabelle‘s eyes. Then, with an equally cheesy tone to match, she said, gently, stroking Ryan’s back.

“Don’t be mad, Isabelle. He’s just not used to seeing you at school.”

Isabelle slowly stood upright once she heard that, heat flooding her face.

But she didn’t respond to her taunts and just reached into her bag, pulled out her phone with trembling fingers, and hit her husband’s number.

Gregory picked up on the fourth ring.

“Hello?”

She didn’t wait.

Her voice was razor-sharp.

“I’m at Ryan’s school. What is Tiffany doing here?”

A pause. Too long.

“I—uh… I didn’t expect… you weren’t supposed to be… Look, I’m on my way.”

He hung up.

Just like that.

Isabelle lowered the phone slowly. Her hand curled around it like it might snap in two.

Miss Donna cleared her throat awkwardly. “Mrs. Torres?”

Isabelle blinked back into focus.

“Yes,” she answered.

The teacher hesitated. “Do you… have any form of identification?”

Isabelle stiffened. Her pride prickled at the question, but she forced herself to stay calm.

“We submitted our passports when we registered him,” she said. “Please check your file.”

The other teacher opened a drawer and pulled out the folder. Isabelle stepped forward.

“There were photos too,” she added. “You’ll see.”

The teacher flipped through laminated pages and then stopped.

There it was.

A photo of her, Gregory, and Ryan..

The teacher cleared his throat.

“I… see it,” he confirmed quietly, holding it up.

The room fell silent at that. Isabelle didn’t need to say anything more.

Behind her though, someone whispered a little too loudly.

“If she’s the mother, why don’t the teachers know her?”

“Maybe she’s not very involved…”

It struck her like a slap. Not because it was true, but because someone thought it could be.

She straightened her spine.

“I’ve been here. Three times. When Mrs. Theresa was still his teacher,” she said, her voice level. “Gregory’s office is closer. He handles drop-offs and pickups.”

The murmur died instantly and no one said a thing after that.

Miss Donna nodded briskly.

“Thank you. I apologize for the confusion. Let’s return to the matter at hand.”

No one asked Tiffany to leave though and that said enough.

Isabelle didn’t speak again.

Her gaze drifted to Ryan who was still tucked against Tiffany’s side and fidgeting with a loose thread on her sleeve. He refused to look at her.

Her heart clenched.

Miss Donna stepped forward and cleared her throat.

“It happened during recess,” she began. “A new student, Aimee, wasn’t responding when the others tried to play with her. Some didn’t take it well.”

She hesitated, eyes scanning the group of gathered parents.

“One of the kids brought a bottle of art paint from home. At some point, it was splashed on Aimee. Her uniform was soaked.”

A ripple of disbelief passed through the room.

Miss Donna turned slightly, gestured to the side and all heads turned.

A little girl sat apart, gripping her backpack tightly. Her uniform, though drying, was still stained with streaks of blue and red. Her face was hidden by her hair. Beside her sat the same man Isabelle had collided with earlier.

Her father, Isabelle realized. The resemblance between them was subtle but there.

But now, his expression was stone.

His hand rested on the girl’s back, protectively but his presence was imposing. Several parents could not help but look away under his gaze.

Then, the first crack formed.

A woman at the back cleared her throat lightly. “That’s awful, of course. But my son said it was Jace who brought the paint.”

Another voice chimed in, louder. “Yes, Jace had it in his bag. He’s mostly responsible.”

“Well,” a third parent, Jace’s mother, snapped, “bringing paint doesn’t mean he forced the others to do anything. Maybe someone else actually did the throwing.”

“Well, someone opened the bottle. My daughter said it was Tory.”

“Exactly! Maybe it wasn’t even Jace who threw it.”

The accusations quickly circled like smoke and everyone was dancing around blame without owning it.

Isabelle stayed silent.

Ryan’s name hadn’t come up. But, he had laughed.

That alone was bad enough.

She turned toward him just in time to catch his eyes.

He looked at her just for a second. Then ducked behind Tiffany again. To rub salt into Isabelle’s wound, the other woman reached out and patted his head to calm him down.

Isabelle’s stomach turned.

Her gaze returned to Aimee. The girl was curling inward, small hands gripping her bag, like it might disappear if she didn’t. The man beside her reached out and gently rubbed her back.

Isabelle’s throat tightened.

She wanted to say something. To tell the parents to stop shouting and look at what their noise was doing to the child.

Then—

“Enough.”

The word rang out, sharp and cold.

Aimee’s father had finally spoken.