Page 155 of Cinder
“She said my name,” Elle continues. “Like she knew who I was.”
There’s a pause, long enough that I can feel Evan choosing his words carefully.
“She’s someone I used to know,” he says evenly.
Elle twists the strap of her backpack around her fingers. “Why was she at my school?”
She shouldn’t have been. And the questions and confusion filling this five-year-old’s head would’ve been avoided if Stacey hadn’t just randomly turned up.
“She wasn’t supposed to be,” he says calmly. “The school knows that.”
“Oh.” Elle goes quiet again, thinking.
“She looked at you funny,” she adds after a second.
The tendons in Evan’s forearm flex against the steering wheel, and he exhales slowly through his nose. “Sometimes grown-ups make choices that mean they have to follow certain rules,” he says. “And if they don’t follow the rules, they don’t get to do things like be at schools.”
“Is she in trouble?” Elle asks.
“She will be if she keeps not following the rules,” he mutters.
I glance at him, full of understanding. This is him in command of something that could spiral if he lets it.
Elle leans back in her seat, but she doesn’t ask anything more, instead looking out the window as we drive. I watch the reflection of her in the mirror for a moment. She isn’t distressed or frightened, but probably a little unsettled in that quiet way kids are when something doesn’t fit properly in their world.
Evan doesn’t speak again until we turn onto our street.
“I’ve already spoken to the principal,” he says to me now. “If she shows up again, they’ll call the PD first.”
I nod. “Good.”
He pulls into the driveway and kills the engine, but he doesn’t move right away. For a second, the house looks like it did this morning—ordinary and safe. Only now I know how thin that line can feel. And I understand, very clearly, why he has full custody.
This isn’t about nostalgia or getting a glimpse at the kid she abandoned. This is about boundaries. And she’s already crossed one.
When we’re inside, Elle disappears into her room to build a blanket fort with Gus. I walk into the kitchen to prep a snack for her, and Evan stands at the kitchen counter with both palms braced against the marble. He hasn’t taken his boots off.
“She looked sober,” he says finally.
I lean back against the opposite counter, giving him space. “I thought so too.”
“She wasn’t shaking, eyes were clear. Didn’t smell it on her.” He drags a hand over his mouth, running through a checklist he knows too well. “That doesn’t mean anything long term, though.”
“No,” I agree softly. “It doesn’t.”
He pushes away from the counter and starts pacing the length of the kitchen.
“And she knows the steps,” he says. “She knows exactly what she has to do if she wants contact. Supervised visits, paperwork, drug tests.” His jaw tightens. “She hasn’t done any of it.”
I nod, because turning up at a school isn’t a first step. It’s a shortcut. And shortcuts are how Elle gets hurt.
“I don’t want you thinking I’m being cruel,” he says suddenly, stopping in front of me and studying me, searching for any doubt.
“I don’t, Ev.”
“I’m not going to let her just… slide back in,” he continues. “She doesn’t get to do that.”
“She shouldn’t,” I say.
