That’s when I heard laughter and children’s voices floating from outside. We stepped out into the massive backyard, where dozens of kids ran around with glowing candy buckets.
Evelyn stood in the middle of the decorated backyard, dressed like a high-society witch in a flowing black gown. She was chatting with the other parents as if she were the queen of Halloween itself.
When she saw us, her smile faltered. “Oh,” she said coolly, straightening her posture. “You’re here.”
“I am,” I said sharply. “And I want to know why my daughter is sitting inside crying while everyone else is out here having fun.”
“Her costume didn’t fit the theme,” she said, rolling her eyes.
I stared at her. “Excuse me?”
“The theme is originality,” she continued. “All the children were encouraged to be creative. We have a miniature astronaut, a hand-painted jellyfish, and a child dressed as Van Gogh! And then—” she waved her manicured hand dismissively “—Wednesday Addams. A bit too predictable, don’t you think?”
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