That afternoon, I had a splitting headache—the kind that turns every sound into an unbearable echo. When Michael offered to pick up Lucas from kindergarten, I was beyond grateful. I curled up on the couch, trying to block out the throb in my temples.
At some point, I must have dozed off. When the door creaked open, there was no excited chatter, no little footsteps. Instead, Michael stepped in, holding the hand of a little girl—no older than Lucas—her hands clutching the straps of a pink backpack.
I frowned. “Where’s Lucas?”
“He’s staying at a friend’s house tonight,” Michael said, his tone unreadable.
I blinked, confused. “Who is this?”
“This is Lisa. She’s staying with us tonight.”
Michael led me to the kitchen, where he explained that Lucas had been bullying Lisa at school. She came from a struggling family, and he wanted Lucas to see things differently.
I was frustrated. “You should’ve told me first.”
Michael sighed. “I thought it would help him.”
Later, I watched Lucas learn kindness by seeing Lisa’s world. By the end of the night, she wasn’t an outsider anymore—she was a friend.
