"Yeah." Kathleen looked at her hands. "And after you left the office that day, kids called me 'the girl whose mom fights her battles' for the whole rest of the year. A whole year, Mom. Nobody wanted to be in a group with me because they thought you'd show up."
I couldn't breathe.
"I never told you," she whispered. "I didn't want you to feel bad. But when Maya sent that photo, all I could think was, if I tell Mom, she's going to march in there, and it's going to get so much worse. And I'd rather feel bad by myself than have it happen again."
"I never told you."
My eyes burned.
I stared at the sketchbook on her nightstand, and I finally understood what it actually meant.
My daughter hadn't hidden this from me to protect Maya. She hadn't hidden it to protect Brenda.
She'd hidden it to protect herself from me.
