Clara’s shoulders tightened before she even reached me.
She got into the passenger seat, dropped her backpack too hard, and turned toward the window.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
Then, after a long silence, she whispered, “Mom, can you please stop coming to my school?”
I almost stopped the car.
Tears filled her eyes.
“I love you so much,” she said, “but I can’t stand them laughing at me.”
Some words don’t just hurt your heart. They move through your whole body.
She told me everything in broken pieces. Her class was preparing for a Mother’s Day event where each student had to bring their mother onstage and say why she was special. Clara had wanted me there—until the jokes started.
“The monster mom.”
