Chapter 19 Chapter 19
Morning sun peeked through the blinds, creating golden stripes across my bedroom wall. Cam was with me, her breath slow and even, her little hand still clutched around my wrist from the night before. She'd refused to sleep in her own bed and hadn't let go, not once, since we'd held ourselves asleep. I brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, kissed her temple, and whispered, "Time to get ready, baby girl."
Waking her up was gentler than normal. She did not struggle like she always did on school mornings. Her silence was heavy but cooperative. While I got her dressed and made her lunch, I made a silent vow to myself- today, I would not just drop her off. I would walk into that school, head held high, and let it be known that my daughter was not alone.
We arrived at the school gates, and the moment our shoes made contact with the pavement, I felt eyes on us. Other parents discreetly turned. There were murmurs here and there like gnats in the air. I gripped Cam's hand harder.
Her principal, Mrs. Detweiler, a sour-faced woman in her fifties with iron-gray curls and narrow glasses, was at the main entrance. I walked up to her calmly.
"Good morning, Mrs. Detweiler," I said.
She blinked. "Oh… good morning, Ms. Davids."
"Do you have a moment?" I asked. My tone was steady, but there was no overlooking the edge beneath.
She glanced toward the entrance, plainly torn between her morning routine and the look in my eyes. "Yes, of course. Please, come to my office."
Cam looked up at me uncertainly.
"Go on, baby. I'll be right behind you," I whispered, bending to kiss her cheek. She nodded and went in with slow steps.
Mrs. Detweiler led me into her office, where the faint aroma of old coffee and lemon-scented cleaner permeated the air. She closed the door and gestured for me to have a seat. I remained standing.
"I heard what happened yesterday," I began. "My mum told me."
Her shoulders drooped slightly. "Yes, we're very sorry. It was unfortunate but we handled it as well as we could."
"With all due respect, handling it isn't enough. My daughter went home in tears because children said she was the daughter of a slut. Because of a blog post. Do you have any notion how damaging that is to a six-year-old?"
Mrs. Detweiler winced. "We spoke to the students who were involved. There were consequences."
"But was she safe?" I pressed. "Was a teacher nearby? Was a counselor called immediately? Did someone speak to Cam to inform her she's not defined by something some anonymous adult wrote online?"
Silence.
I slowly exhaled. "Look, I know you can't control what kids say at home or online. But you can control what happens in this building. And right now, Cam needs to feel safe."
"You're right," she agreed, eyes softening. "Do you want us to set up a counseling appointment for her? A classroom kindness and empathy exercise, maybe?"
"Yes. I'd like that. But more than that, I need to be kept in the loop. If anything else happens to my child, I need to be the first to know. Not the last."
"Understood. I'll speak to our counselor today and get something underway."
"Thank you," I whispered. I turned to leave.
When I opened the door, a woman in a beige trench coat was waiting in the hallway. I recognized her vaguely from school events. Her eyes were warm but cautious.
"Ms. Davids?" she queried.
I paused.
"I just wanted to say… I'm sorry about what happened. My daughter told me what the other kids said. It wasn't right. Kids say what they hear at home, and I want you to know not all of us think that way."
I blinked, surprised. "Thank you. That means more than you know."
"If you ever need a coffee, or just to talk… I'm around."
"I might just take you up on that," I said with a weak grin.
She grinned back and walked off, heels clicking down the hall.
When I got to work, I was drained emotionally but resolute. Sasha greeted me with a stiff nod, glancing over my shoulder as if to ensure no one was watching.
"Better get inside and shut the door," she said.
My heart skipped a beat. I followed her into my office. She closed the door behind us.
"What is it?"
She looked around as though she wasn't sure who could be listening. Then she stepped in and lowered her voice.
"Legal traced the metadata of the original post. The blog was posted from an internal IP address. It was leaked by someone in this company."
I felt the air get sucked out of the room. My spine straightened.
"Are you telling me this smear campaign started here?"
Sasha nodded. "It was routed through a VPN, but they managed to trace a thread. The upload came from the HR department."
"HR? You sure?"
"Legal is still tracing it, but the best chance is Andrea."
Andrea. Sleek, ambitious, always appearing as if she'd just stepped off a runway. She'd never really liked me. I'd always thought it was professional rivalry but was that a reason for doing this? What if someone provoked her into it.
"I don't have solid proof yet," Sasha said, holding up her hands, "but you need to decide what you're going to do. We can attempt to pursue legal action. Defamation, breach of confidence, even internal sabotage. But it could get dirty."
I sank into a chair, slow and cautious, heart racing. I thought of Cam. Of her tears. Of the whispers at the school gate. And of all the people who smiled to my face and conspired behind my back.
"Let me guess," I whispered. "If I press charges or go public, the board might start to think I'm more of a liability than a leader."
Sasha didn't say a word.
"What about Andrea? Has she been notified?"
"Not yet. Legal was waiting for your call."
I stood and walked to the window. Outside, the city continued as if nothing was wrong. But everything was.
"I want a full report," I finally said. "All pieces of data. All timelines. If we're going to deal with this, I want to be ready. And in the meantime, I don't want anyone to know that we know."
"You got it."
"And Sasha?"
She turned as she was heading out the door.
"Thank you."
She nodded and disappeared.
For a moment, I was alone, with only glass and silence surrounding me. My mask from that morning was in peril of cracking. But I held it in place. Because now I had a target. A motive. A name.
This wasn't gossip anymore. This was war. And I was going to fight.