I grabbed my keys.
I parked across from her school and waited.
Students spilled out in clusters—laughing, loud, backpacks slung over one shoulder like the day hadn’t worn them down.
Then I saw Ellie.
She came out alone and paused at the steps.
She looked left. Then right.
Then over her shoulder—making sure no one was watching.
Then she turned and walked away from the parking lot.
Not toward the buses. Not toward the park. She cut across the field, passed a row of houses, and picked up her pace like she was heading somewhere specific.
“Where are you going?”
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