pulled a five-dollar bill from her wallet. As she reached out to hand it to me, her purse slipped from her other hand and crashed to the floor. All the contents spilled out around her. She quickly bent to pick them up, and Mark and I tried to help. I grabbed a couple of items, but my hand stopped on a picture of a young girl. I gasped, dropping the picture back to the floor. My legs began to shake, forcing me to sit back down.
"Are you alright?" Mrs. Hale asked, the politeness returning with an added touch of concern.
Mark stared at me, unsure what I had seen.
"Yes, I'm sorry." I leaned over and picked the picture back up off the floor. "Is this your daughter?" I asked, handing her the picture, trying to conceal my shaking frame.
Her eyes focused on the picture. "Yes," she said quietly, "this is Zoe; she died six months ago."
"I'm so sorry," I said respectfully. I waited for a moment, then decided I couldn't hold it in any longer. "Do you mind if I ask how she died?" My tone sounded more urgent than I had planned, but I knew that young girl; I had just told her I couldn't help her as she stood in an empty graveyard.
"Not at all," Mrs. Hale continued, not recognizing my urgency. "Zoe loved to be outside. She liked it so much, that my husband decided that she needed to have a tree house to play in." Her tone changed, and the sadness was lost in the joy of talking about her daughter. "The look on her face when it was finished was priceless," she continued, "you would have thought that she had just been given the greatest thing in the whole world, and I'm sure that's exactly what she thought. She played in there all day long. We had tea parties and sleepovers inside, and we even let her paint it all by herself. Logan also loved it, and they would fight over who got to go up first. One afternoon, Zoe ran outside to play in the tree house, but Logan beat her to the ladder. Zoe decided she was going up anyway and pushed past Logan and began to climb but lost her footing and slipped from halfway up the ladder. Logan tried to catch her, but she fell and hit her head. She died a few hours later from severe head trauma.”
I was crying as she told me the story. She grabbed a tissue from her pocket and handed it to me. Her own tears flowed down her cheeks. Mark had been listening in silence, but I saw him wipe his eye when he didn't think I was looking.
"I'm truly so sorry. That must have been very hard on all of you," I said, trying to console her.
"Logan took it the hardest; he still blames himself and has been acting out for a couple of months now. Which is why he probably started to be a bully at school. We put him in counseling, but he's just shut himself off from us." She sighed and quickly wiped her tears. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be putting all my troubles on you." She gathered the rest of the items and quickly tucked them back into her purse. "I will talk to him and have him write a letter of apology."
"No," I said quickly. "Hunter doesn't want him to know that he told us. He’s afraid that it will make matters worse, and he will get bullied even more. Not just by Logan, but other kids as well. I promised him we would be discreet. We would appreciate it if you could be as well. Maybe there is a way you can approach him without letting him know that you know the truth."
She thought for a moment. "That will be easy enough. I will tell him I talked to the front desk. He will then have to come clean about where he really got the money."
A bell sounded throughout the building.
"I'm so sorry, I must get to my classroom. Thank you for listening; you have no idea how much that meant to me," Mrs. Hale said gratefully. "I'm also very sorry about Logan."
"Thank you for letting us come talk with you. We're sorry about Zoe," Mark said, standing and shaking her hand. I
"Are you alright?" Mrs. Hale asked, the politeness returning with an added touch of concern.
Mark stared at me, unsure what I had seen.
"Yes, I'm sorry." I leaned over and picked the picture back up off the floor. "Is this your daughter?" I asked, handing her the picture, trying to conceal my shaking frame.
Her eyes focused on the picture. "Yes," she said quietly, "this is Zoe; she died six months ago."
"I'm so sorry," I said respectfully. I waited for a moment, then decided I couldn't hold it in any longer. "Do you mind if I ask how she died?" My tone sounded more urgent than I had planned, but I knew that young girl; I had just told her I couldn't help her as she stood in an empty graveyard.
"Not at all," Mrs. Hale continued, not recognizing my urgency. "Zoe loved to be outside. She liked it so much, that my husband decided that she needed to have a tree house to play in." Her tone changed, and the sadness was lost in the joy of talking about her daughter. "The look on her face when it was finished was priceless," she continued, "you would have thought that she had just been given the greatest thing in the whole world, and I'm sure that's exactly what she thought. She played in there all day long. We had tea parties and sleepovers inside, and we even let her paint it all by herself. Logan also loved it, and they would fight over who got to go up first. One afternoon, Zoe ran outside to play in the tree house, but Logan beat her to the ladder. Zoe decided she was going up anyway and pushed past Logan and began to climb but lost her footing and slipped from halfway up the ladder. Logan tried to catch her, but she fell and hit her head. She died a few hours later from severe head trauma.”
I was crying as she told me the story. She grabbed a tissue from her pocket and handed it to me. Her own tears flowed down her cheeks. Mark had been listening in silence, but I saw him wipe his eye when he didn't think I was looking.
"I'm truly so sorry. That must have been very hard on all of you," I said, trying to console her.
"Logan took it the hardest; he still blames himself and has been acting out for a couple of months now. Which is why he probably started to be a bully at school. We put him in counseling, but he's just shut himself off from us." She sighed and quickly wiped her tears. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be putting all my troubles on you." She gathered the rest of the items and quickly tucked them back into her purse. "I will talk to him and have him write a letter of apology."
"No," I said quickly. "Hunter doesn't want him to know that he told us. He’s afraid that it will make matters worse, and he will get bullied even more. Not just by Logan, but other kids as well. I promised him we would be discreet. We would appreciate it if you could be as well. Maybe there is a way you can approach him without letting him know that you know the truth."
She thought for a moment. "That will be easy enough. I will tell him I talked to the front desk. He will then have to come clean about where he really got the money."
A bell sounded throughout the building.
"I'm so sorry, I must get to my classroom. Thank you for listening; you have no idea how much that meant to me," Mrs. Hale said gratefully. "I'm also very sorry about Logan."
"Thank you for letting us come talk with you. We're sorry about Zoe," Mark said, standing and shaking her hand. I
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