Grace.
My son’s best friend.
The little girl who had spent the past year undergoing cancer treatment.
“Is Grace all right?” I asked, already reaching for my car keys.
“She’s fine. There’s no medical emergency.”
That should have reassured me.
It didn’t.
“Then why does her father want to see me?”
“I think it would be better if we discussed everything in person.”
Ten minutes later, I hurried into the school office.
Noah was sitting beside Grace’s father, Michael Bennett.
My son had his head lowered and was nervously folding the corner of a piece of paper.
Michael looked as though he hadn’t slept all night.
His face was pale, and there were deep lines of exhaustion around his eyes.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Neither of them answered immediately.
“Is this about the wig?”
Michael turned toward Noah.
“You really haven’t told your mother?”
