Hundred and Seventy

Hundred and Seventy
The pickup area outside Noah’s school was actually always very systematic. Everyone had this unsaid sequence they would follow.

I pulled into my usual spot and shut the engine off, my eyes automatically scanning the crowd spilling out of the double doors. The familiar noise of kids shouting to each other, parents honking, a whistle blowing somewhere as a teacher tried to keep order, surrounded me. 

When I saw Noah, I waved at him. But he hadn’t seen me yet. I got out of the car, walking to him. 

Noah, bounding down the steps two at a time, backpack half unzipped, lunchbox dangling from one hand. He spotted me as I came closer and waved, grinning so wide it made my chest loosen.

But before he reached me, someone else stepped out from behind a parked car.

A woman. Camera bag slung over her shoulder. Microphone in her hand.

My stomach clenched.

She crouched in front of Noah like she was about to pet a stray animal. “Noah,” she said brightly, too brightly. “Can I ask you a few questions about your father?”

Noah froze mid-step. His grin slid off his face, replaced with confusion. He glanced back at the teacher, then at me, eyes wide.

I was already running.

“Hey!” My voice was loud enough to make other heads turn. “Get away from him!”

The woman stood, straightening her blazer like she had every right to be there, questioning this kid like this. Her expression was practiced, polished, the kind of calm that only made me angrier.

“I just want a comment,” she said smoothly, turning her camera toward Noah again. “Declan Ashwell’s secret son, how does it feel -”

“Are you kidding me? Are you insane?” I was almost running now, shoving myself between her and my child. Noah ducked behind me instantly, pressing his face into the back of my coat.

“He’s five years old! He is a child. You don’t ambush kids outside their school for your trash headlines.”

Her lips curled. “The public deserves to know the truth about -”

“No,” I snapped, pointing a shaking finger at her. “The public doesn’t deserve anything from him. He is not your story. He is not your clickbait. If you so much as breathe in his direction again, I will have you arrested.”

By now, other parents were staring openly. Some whispering, some pulling their kids closer. A teacher was making their way over, eyes narrowed, but the damage was already done.

The journalist gave me a thin smile, lowering her mic. “You’re awfully defensive for someone with so much to hide.”

I nearly lunged at her. My body shook with rage, but my hands were full. With one I was clutching Noah’s backpack strap, the other gripping his wrist so tightly I was afraid I’d leave a mark.

I yanked him toward the car without another word. My only priority was getting him out of there.

Inside the car, the door slammed shut with a hollow thud. My breath came fast, uneven, like I’d run a mile.

Noah sat stiff in the backseat, eyes wide, cheeks pale. “Mommy,” he whispered, “why was she asking me about my dad?”

My throat closed.

“She was wrong to do that,” I managed, forcing steadiness into my voice I didn’t feel. “You don’t ever have to answer questions like that. Not from strangers. Not from anyone.”

“But… she knew my name.” He seemed less curious and more afraid. “She knew about us. How?”

I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles ached. “Because some people don’t care about what’s right. They care about stories. And making money. And they’ll do anything to get that.”

His eyes glistened. “I didn’t do anything bad, did I?”

I twisted in my seat and reached for him, cupping the back of his head, pulling him forward so I could kiss his forehead. “No, baby. You didn’t do anything wrong. She did. She was wrong.
Do you understand me? This isn’t your fault.”

He nodded against my shoulder, but his little body stayed rigid.

I wanted to cry. Instead, I turned the ignition and drove.

By the time we got home, Noah had gone quiet, staring out the window as if trying to make himself small.

Declan was at the kitchen counter, papers spread in neat stacks, sleeves rolled up, hair falling into his eyes. He looked up as soon as we walked in.

“Hey,” he started with a smile, but it faded instantly when he saw my face. “What happened?”

I dropped Noah’s backpack on the floor, my voice sharp and shaking as I recounted everything: the microphone, the words ‘secret son,’ the way Noah froze.

Declan’s face changed with every detail. By the time I finished, he was shaking, his jaw tight enough I thought his teeth would break.

“She went after him?” His voice was low, dangerous. “At his school?”

“Yes.” I was shaking with rage all over again. “In front of everyone. He was terrified.”

Declan’s fists clenched at his sides. “I’ll kill her.”

“Declan,” I snapped, grabbing his arm lightly. “Noah doesn’t need you in prison. But someone has to stop this. It has to stop.”

He was already pulling his phone from his pocket, pacing like a man possessed. “I know exactly who’s behind this.”

“Declan -”

But he’d already dialed. He didn’t say hello or anything, just began to yell.

“You crossed the line,” he barked. “Fucking paps outside his school? Are you insane? You’ve lost your fucking mind!”

I could only hear muffled responses, but I didn’t need to. Emma’s icy voice lived rent-free in my head these days.

Declan’s voice rose, furious. “Don’t you dare play innocent. Who else feeds reporters my son’s name, his school, his life? You’ve gone too far, Emma.”

Emma. Not mom, not mother. The word surprised me.

He stalked into the living room, pacing furiously. “No, you listen. If you fight her, you fight me. Lay off the media. Do you hear me? Lay the fuck off.”

Silence, then a growl as he hung up. His hands were shaking as he shoved the phone back in his pocket.

When he turned back to me, his eyes were wild, blazing.

“She won’t stop,” I whispered, arms wrapped around myself.

“No,” he admitted, chest heaving. “But I swear to you, I will never let this happen again. Not as long as I’m alive.”

And for a moment, I believed him.

But upstairs, when I tucked Noah into bed and he whispered, “Mommy, will she keep coming back?”, my hands shook too badly to smooth his hair.

I told him no. I told him he was safe.

And I prayed I wasn’t lying.