That night, I sat at the table with my phone. Mark hovered in the doorway.
“I’m calling the school,” I said.
“It’s an adult.”
Mark came closer. “What happened?”
“Someone is talking to Noah. And they’re using Ethan’s name.”
Mark went pale. “You’re sure?”
“He said Ethan told him not to tell me. It’s an adult.”
Mark swallowed. “Call.”
***
The next morning, I walked into the kindergarten office without taking my coat off.
“My son is being approached. Show me.”
“I need Ms. Alvarez,” I said.
Ms. Alvarez appeared with a polite smile that vanished when she saw my face.
“Mrs. Elana,” she said. “Is Noah—”
“I need security footage,” I cut in. “Yesterday afternoon. Playground and gate.”
Her brows lifted. “We have policies—”
“My son is being approached. Show me.”
A man crouched on the other side of the fence.
She held my gaze, then nodded. “Come with me.”
Her office smelled like coffee and toner. She clicked through a camera grid and pulled up the video.
At first, it was normal. Kids running. Teachers pacing. Then Noah wandered to the back fence. He stopped, tilted his head, smiled, and waved.
“Zoom,” I said.
Ms. Alvarez zoomed in. A man crouched on the other side of the fence. Work jacket. Baseball cap. He stayed low, away from the main sightline, leaning forward to talk.
“Who is that?”
Noah laughed and answered him like this wasn’t new. The man slipped a hand through the fence and passed something small to Noah.
My vision tunneled.
“Who is that?” I asked.
Ms. Alvarez’s mouth opened. “That’s one of the contractors. He’s been fixing the exterior lights.”
I didn’t hear “contractor.” I saw a face I’d refused to study in the crash file.
I dialed 911.
“That’s him,” I said.
Ms. Alvarez blinked. “Who?”
“The truck driver. The one who hit them.”
Silence filled the office.
