“She’s soaked. I just bought this car. I can’t have mud all over the interior.”
Emma quietly moved one foot behind the other.
I walked closer.
“Vanessa, I’ve driven Sophie to school every morning for two years. I’m asking you for one ride.”
She sighed.
“Sarah, don’t turn this into something huge. I didn’t spend this much money on a car so somebody else’s kid could ruin it.”
From the back seat, Sophie immediately protested.
“Mom—”
“Sophie, stay out of it.”
Emma’s cheeks turned red.
“Mom, it’s okay.”
Those words hurt more than anything Vanessa had said.
My ten-year-old daughter was trying to make herself smaller because her shoes were wet.
I put my hand on her shoulder.
“Okay. Come inside.”
Vanessa drove away.
Sophie twisted around in the back seat and watched us through the rear window.
Inside, Emma removed her sneakers beside the door.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “If I hadn’t stepped in the puddle—”
“No.”
I crouched beside her.
“Emma, you did absolutely nothing wrong.”
Her eyes filled with tears anyway.
Then her phone buzzed.
She read the message and handed it to me.
It was from Sophie.
“I’m sorry. I told Mom you could sit on my jacket. She told me to stop arguing.”
That changed something.
Until then, part of me had still been trying to excuse Vanessa.
Maybe she had panicked over the new car.
Maybe she had made one selfish decision.
But Sophie had given her another chance to reconsider.
She hadn’t.
I ordered a rideshare.
The price made my stomach sink.
