I steered Ethan toward the door. “I’m taking my son home now, Principal Dawson. And I hope you’ll also think carefully before calling the police on your students.”
I walked out of there with Ethan without looking back.
When we stepped outside, cool rain hit my face. It felt like release, like washing something clean.
Ethan stared down at his shoes, his shoulders shaking. I reached for him, resting my hand on his back.
“You did nothing wrong,” I said. “And now they all know it.”
“Mom?” he said quietly. “I was really scared, but when you looked at me in there… I knew you believed me. That felt… big.”
I squeezed his shoulder. The truth felt like a stone in my chest because I hadn’t believed him — not completely, not without doubt.
But I’d trusted him when it counted, and surely that’s what mattered most.
Trusting your kid when everything looks bad isn’t easy. It’s not instinct, but a choice you make in the moment. And sometimes you make it even when the evidence is stacked against them.
You make it because they need you to.
