You think of Flora and her pinched little face when she rang your doorbell in late spring, not long after you’d begun the withdrawals. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Piper?” she’d demanded. “Why am I getting charged random amounts from you people when my kid isn’t even in school?”

You smiled in mock surprise. Told her you had no idea what she was talking about. It was a shame, really—you’d considered Flora a friend. She was one of those mothers who took it upon herself to make the school better, looping in special guests to visit and donating art supplies and even hooking you up with a playground equipment supplier that was eco-friendly and BPA-free.

Not so deep down, you seethed with annoyance that she was being so self-righteous. Flora came from vast amounts of money; her father was some hotshot corporate lawyer back in New York. She didn’t even have a regular job; she was starting some bullshit sportswear line, clearly a vanity project, the pieces made in China and shipped here and stamped with her holistic seal of approval. You even wore her stupid rubber bracelet for a while, supporting her cause. You went to her stupid launch party. You bought her leggings and a headband you’d never wear and a pair of socks that were no better than the ones you used to buy in big packs at Walmart. And this is what she throws back in your face? A few dollars siphoned from her account?

Flora didn’t need the money. Silver Swans did. You did. Not that you could have told her that. Flora was furious when she came to you. She said she’d figured it all out and was going to blow the whistle. “Everyone else might love you,” she said, “but I think you’re full of shit. Exploiting parents, especially during this time? Do you realize how wrong that is?”

You had to act quickly. It was so easy, in the end—all you had to do was pinpoint what really mattered to her. You’d never met a girl who didn’t want to protect her father. Hell, that even included you, not that your dad had any secrets worth keeping.

She took your money and shut up. She knew what bombs you could detonate, and she stayed away. Her capitulation was a relief at the time, but now you wonder if you’d been naïve. You’d noticed her bracelets on not one wrist but two. New mothers at that. It’s more than a coincidence. Flora knows these women; she must. Maybe she said the things she wasn’t supposed to.