“You don’t protect me from the truth,” I whispered. “I protect you by facing it.”
I pulled back slightly, holding her shoulders.
“Start from the beginning,” I said.
Lily wiped her eyes with her sleeve, embarrassed. Then she looked at the children around us.
“This is Ben,” she said, pointing to the freckled boy. “And Kayla. And Juno. And… Mateo.”
Mateo—small, quiet—stood near the corner, eyes down, hands twisting his hoodie sleeves until his knuckles whitened.
“They come here during school,” Lily admitted, voice trembling. “Not every day. Just… when it gets bad.”
My chest tightened. “What gets bad?”
Ben’s voice came out thin. “Mr. Haskins,” he whispered. “He calls us stupid. He does it like it’s funny.”
Kayla swallowed hard. “And Ms. Brill,” she added. “She takes my lunch if I ‘talk back.’ I didn’t talk back. I just asked a question.”
Juno spoke next, voice shaking. “They told my mom I’m ‘dramatic.’ She said to stop making trouble.”
Each sentence landed like a weight.
This wasn’t “kids being kids.”
This was cruelty.
Systemic, normalized.
And the worst part was what Lily said next.
“They tried telling adults,” she whispered. “Counselor. Teachers. But… nothing happened.”
She held my gaze, eyes shiny with frustration and fear.
“So I told them they could come here,” she said. “Just for a few hours. Until lunch. So they could breathe.”
My throat tightened. “How often?”
Lily swallowed. “Maybe… three times a week.”
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