He tightened his hands on the steering wheel and drove.
When he stepped into the front office, it felt like the school itself was holding its breath. No laughter. No footsteps. No noise. Just the smell of floor polish and the hum of a tired air vent. Behind the desk, the secretary looked exhausted in the way only someone who cares too much can look, and beside her sat a small boy with wide eyes, sitting too straight, trying to be brave.
His name was Aiden Cooper.
He had a faded backpack resting at his feet, a crumpled homework paper peeking out like it wanted someone to notice it had been proudly finished, and on his head sat the thing that nearly split Noah’s heart in two—
A paper birthday crown.
Crayon-colored. Letters uneven. Careful, determined, hopeful handwriting spelling out “BIRTHDAY BOY.”
“Noah,” the secretary whispered, pulling him aside like one might speak in a church, “his mother… she was taken into custody earlier today. His stepfather hasn’t answered any calls. We can’t reach extended family. We’ve kept him as long as we can.”
He looked at the boy.
