Chapter 4Returned After a Year

School?

For a second, I just stared at him. Then, a thrill of excitement shot through me. I could go to school?

“Thank you… Daddy,” I said, the word feeling strange and foreign on my tongue. I watched his face carefully, terrified I might say something to upset him.

He didn’t look at me again, simply calling Claire to go upstairs with him.

I sat alone on the living room sofa, a huge grin spreading across my face. I was finally going to school.

For the entire year I was with my mother, I had been a prisoner in whatever apartment we were staying in. She wouldn’t let me go to preschool, paranoid that my father would find me and take me away. My days were long, empty, and suffocatingly boring.

Now, finally, I was going back to school.

That night, after dinner, I lay in the big, soft bed, too excited to sleep. I kept checking my new backpack, making sure all my pencils and notebooks were perfectly in place.

The next day, I left for school bursting with happiness. I came home with my head hung low.

Claire noticed my mood immediately. “What’s wrong, Poppy?” she asked, her voice full of concern. “Did you not like your new school? Or did you have trouble making friends?”

I shook my head. “It’s not that…”

“Well, what is it then?” She glanced at my father, silently urging him to say something.

He put down the file he was reading and turned to me. Noticing I was hiding something behind my back, he asked in his usual stern tone, “What are you holding? Let me see.”

I bit my lip and slowly brought my hands forward. The paper in my hand was covered in big, angry red X’s.

Claire took the test from me and, after a quick look, passed it to my father.

He scanned the page, his expression turning sour. “How could you do this poorly? What have you been—I mean, have you not learned anything this past year?”

He’d caught himself, changing his words under Claire’s sharp glare.

I twisted my hands in my lap, explaining in a small voice, “Mommy wouldn’t let me go to preschool…”

Today at school, I’d realized just how far behind I was. I couldn’t understand most of what the teacher was saying.

Claire fell silent. For a moment, her eyes looked sad, as if she was thinking of something painful. My father said nothing for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was much softer.

“One bad test doesn’t mean anything. I’ll hire a tutor for you starting tomorrow. You’ll catch up in no time.”

A wave of relief washed over me. I nodded happily. My father wasn't the scary, heartless man my mother had made him out to be. He was actually very good to me.

The tutor arrived the next day. Claire, still worried, sat in on the first few lessons. Only when she was certain I could understand everything did she relax.

Life settled into a happy new rhythm. One afternoon, I came home from school, skipping, and saw my baby sister for the first time. She was lying in her bassinet in the living room, dressed in a tiny pink onesie, sleeping peacefully. A group of women—Claire’s friends—were gathered around.

“She’s so perfect, Claire! So quiet and calm.”

Claire smiled, her eyes filled with a soft, maternal love as she gazed at her daughter.

Trying not to wake the baby, I tiptoed over. “Hi, Claire. Why is the baby downstairs today?”

I had learned shortly after arriving that my sister had been sick since she was born and had been kept upstairs to recover. This was the first time I had ever laid eyes on her.

Claire gently stroked my hair. “Because she’s all better now. She doesn’t have to stay cooped up in her room anymore.”

I nodded, fascinated by the tiny, sleeping baby. I was so engrossed I didn’t notice the atmosphere in the room suddenly turn cold.

“So that’s the one the psycho left behind?” one of the women said in a stage whisper.

“You should be careful, Claire,” another added. “Don’t forget what that woman did to you. Because of her, you almost died in childbirth. Who knows what ideas she’s put in this one’s head.”