After the divorce, it had been just the two of us in a modest, pale-blue house on a quiet street in a Massachusetts suburb where nothing ever seemed to happen.The kind of place where neighbors waved, lawns were trimmed on schedule, and secrets felt out of place.Lily was my constant. My certainty.She was thoughtful, mature beyond her age, and unfailingly polite. Teachers praised her. Neighbors admired her.She never raised her voice, never slammed doors, never asked for anything extravagant. In a world that had already taken my marriage apart, she felt like proof that I had done at least one thing right.Or so I believed.That Thursday morning began like every other. Coffee cooling on the counter, my laptop bag slung over my shoulder, the familiar rush of being five minutes late. As I stepped outside, the crisp air brushing my face, I saw Mrs. Greene standing by her hydrangeas, her silver hair neatly pinned, her cardigan buttoned all the way up despite the mild weather.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She lifted a hand, then hesitated, as if weighing her words.\u201cOlivia,\u201d she called softly, her voice carrying a strange caution, \u201cis Lily not feeling well again?\u201dI stopped short. \u201cNot feeling well?\u201dMrs. Greene tilted her head. \u201cYes\u2026 she\u2019s been coming home during the day. Quite often, actually. Sometimes with other children.\u201dThe ground seemed to shift beneath my feet.That\u2019s\u2026 that can\u2019t be right,\u201d I said quickly, forcing a small laugh that sounded hollow even to me. \u201cShe leaves for school every morning.\u201dMrs. Greene\u2019s forehead creased. \u201cI only mentioned it because I was worried. I see her pass by around noon sometimes. Yesterday, too.\u201dI nodded too fast. \u201cI\u2019m sure it\u2019s nothing. Maybe she had early dismissal. Thank you for telling me.\u201dI walked to my car with a polite smile still plastered on my face, but the moment the door shut, my hands began to tremble.During the drive to work, her words replayed in my mind like a broken recording.
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