Erin's small hand gripped mine as we approached the school gate the next morning. Her eyes darted nervously around the playground, searching for Jordan.
"Remember what we talked about?" I asked gently.
She nodded, her pigtails bouncing slightly. "Tell the truth. Don't be afraid."
"That's right." I squeezed her hand reassuringly. "Your brother and I are right here with you."
When she'd revealed the full extent of Jordan's bullying last night—stolen lunches, pushed down stairs, threatened with worse if she ever told—I'd seen a side of Eamon I hadn't expected. His quiet fury mirrored my own, but we both knew confronting a child directly would solve nothing.
The system needed to address this properly.
"There he is," Eamon muttered, nodding toward a woman marching through the gate with a sullen boy in tow—Jordan and his mother, Mrs. Langley.
"Let's do this," I said, guiding Erin forward.
