“Hey,” she said, pointing to it. “Arthur’s got the same bag. He begged for it. Didn’t want a backpack like every other kid, no way. I wonder if it’s because he saw yours fir—”

Something caught in her brain like a coin dropping into a jukebox. Messenger bag. Someone had recently described Arthur’s schoolbag to her that same way. It had struck her as odd then, and she hadn’t known why. Now she did.

She placed the Hot Wheels set on a random table and stepped out of line. “I-I have to go,” she told Reginald. “Sorry.”

She ran out of the store without saying another word.

Eleven

Lauren didn’t remember the drive to Silver Swans, only skidding into a far-off space in the lot and slamming the car door so hard she was afraid she broke it. Her nails dug into her palms as she marched toward the entrance to the school’s offices. The sounds of squeals could be heard from the playground, but that didn’t lift her spirits. She hated that her son was inside that building. She hated that she’d said nothing when Graham had dropped him off an hour before, gurgling about how much fun Matthew was going to have and how much he was going to miss him while he was away doing his big episode shoot with Gracie.

And yet, she had to keep her mouth shut. First off, Graham didn’t need the additional hassle right before a big opportunity. Second, she couldn’t tell Graham—that would mean admitting she’d spilled her postpartum-rage story to the school’s director in the first place, which she suspected he wouldn’t approve of.

She had to handle this on her own.

That bitch Piper thought she was crazy, and Lauren needed to make Piper aware that this was not how you treated parents who were paying you good money. And the way that woman postured at the breakfast! The way she said that she respected all families, that everyone was doing their best, that we were all in this together! What a joke.

But halfway across the parking lot, she came to a halt. She stared down at her hands. They were knotted into fists. She could already feel herself slipping, the edges of her consciousness going blurry. She needed to breathe. She needed to get a hold of herself. It couldn’t be like that night this past summer. That time in the kitchen. When everything had gone so wrong.