Prue sat quietly in the corner of Mr. Mitchel’s classroom, her hands folded in her lap.
Her gaze wandered across the room: bookshelves lined with child development manuals, colorful bins full of puzzles and toys, and a cozy reading nook with a bean bag under a paper tree taped to the wall.
The space felt warm and safe. She wanted to believe it could protect her daughter, Ellie, from the harshness of the world.
The door opened gently. Mr. Mitchels entered with a calm, approachable demeanor. His voice was soft and welcoming as he greeted her.
“Mrs. Harper,” he said kindly, extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure. Ellie did very well on her placement exam. It’s not easy to get into this school.”
Prue smiled politely and shook his head. “Thank you. We’re grateful for the opportunity. But there’s something I need to discuss before she starts.”
He nodded and gestured for her to continue. Prue took a breath.
“Ellie is adopted,” she began.
“We’ve always been honest with her about that. But she’s had a rough past—been bullied in previous schools. I just want to make sure she’s safe here.”
Mr. Mitchels listened intently.
“Thank you for telling me. That’s important. I promise I’ll keep a close watch. Every child should feel secure and welcome.”
Relief softened her shoulders. “I appreciate that,” she said, getting up. But just as she reached for her purse, he asked, “If you don’t mind—when did you adopt Ellie?”
Prue hesitated, then replied, “Five years ago. Her birth parents died in a plane crash. She was only three.”
For a moment, something flickered across his face—shock, perhaps?
His hand trembled slightly before he tucked it under the desk.
“Are you alright?” Prue asked, concerned.
He forced a smile. “Yes, just a headache. Thank you for coming.”
She nodded and left, but unease lingered in her gut.
Weeks passed in a blur of packed lunches, misplaced shoes, and homework folders.
Ellie seemed fine—quiet, maybe a little more reserved—but she smiled at bedtime and talked about her day. Still, Prue’s motherly instinct sensed something was off.
One evening, Prue passed Ellie’s room and heard the soft sound of crayons. She peeked inside and saw her daughter bent over her desk, tongue sticking out in concentration.
“What’re you drawing, sweetie?” she asked gently.
Ellie beamed and held up colorful pictures—sunny skies, green lawns, and their dog Scout.
“They’re lovely,” Prue said, flipping through them. Then one image made her freeze.
Three stick figures stood together: one labeled “Mom,” one “Dad,” and another simply marked “Uncle.”
Prue’s heart fluttered. “Ellie… who’s this?”
Ellie looked down. “I promised not to tell. He said it’s a secret.”
Prue kissed her head, heart pounding. “Okay. But remember, you can always tell me anything.”
That night, Prue lay awake. Ellie had no uncles.
She and her late husband were only children. So, who was this mystery figure?
The next day, just before she was about to pick up Ellie, her phone rang.
“Mrs. Harper, it’s Mr. Mitchels,” said his calm voice. “Ellie’s having some trouble with reading. I’d like to keep her after class for a bit.”
Prue frowned. “She hasn’t mentioned any problems.”
“She might be shy about it,” he offered.
It wasn’t the first time Ellie had stayed late. Something felt off.
“I understand,” she said slowly, but worry gripped her as she hung up.
She didn’t wait. Grabbing her keys, she rushed out the door.
At the school, the halls were mostly empty. A janitor sweeping said he hadn’t seen Ellie or Mr. Mitchels recently, though he thought he saw the teacher’s car leave.
“Maybe they went to the park,” he added casually.
Without another word, Prue drove straight there, nerves coiled tight in her chest.
The park buzzed with laughter and barking dogs. Prue scanned the area, eyes sharp.
Then she saw them—under a maple tree, Mr. Mitchels sitting with Ellie, who was cheerfully eating ice cream.
Relief washed over her—but so did anger.
“Ellie!” she called, her voice cracking.
Her daughter turned, smiling. “Mom!”
Prue rushed over, hugging her tightly, checking her face and arms. No bruises. No signs of harm.
Then she turned to Mr. Mitchels, her voice steely. “Why didn’t you tell me you were taking her out? You said she was in class.”
“She needed a break,” he said, clearly flustered. “She asked for ice cream. I thought the park would help.”
“You lied,” she said coldly.
“And that drawing—she called you Uncle. What’s going on?”
He sighed, the calm teacher persona slipping. “I didn’t mean to lie. I just didn’t know how to explain.”
“Explain what?”
“I’m her uncle. My sister—Jessica—was her birth mother.”
Prue froze.
“I found out after the crash,” he continued.
“They contacted me. I was a mess. No job, no stability. I couldn’t take her in. When I saw her name on the roster, I knew. I just wanted to be near her. To know she was okay.”
Prue’s voice was firm. “You should’ve told me. She’s my daughter. You had no right to keep that secret.”
“I know,” he whispered. “But… if you’d allow it, I’d like to be in her life.”
She looked at Ellie, who quietly reached for her hand. Prue’s heart softened. Conflicted, but not closed.
“I’ll think about it,” she said. “But from now on, no more lies.”
The next day, they met at a quiet café.
A small table, untouched coffee. Serious conversation.
“She’s safe with me,” Prue said. “That’s all that matters.”
“I’m not trying to take her,” he replied. “I just want to be part of her life. I love her.”
“You made a mistake,” Prue said. “But maybe it’s not too late to do better.”
Hope flickered in his eyes. “I can see her?”
Prue nodded. “On my terms. Visits, honesty, no more secrets.”
“Of course,” he agreed.
Outside, life carried on. And for Ellie’s sake, Prue allowed a small opening. Not complete trust, but enough.
Enough to start again.
