Chapter 4
The first time Margaret showed up at the school, it was Mia who found her.
It was a Tuesday, pickup time. I was running five minutes late, stuck in traffic. Mia had texted me she’d wait by the office.
Then my phone rang. It was the school principal, Ms. Lopez. Her voice was tight, urgent.
“Claire, you need to get here now. Margaret Hale is in the parking lot. She’s trying to get Lily to come with her.”
My blood ran cold. I hung up and floored it, running two red lights, my hands shaking so bad I could barely hold the wheel.
I skidded into the parking lot three minutes later. James was already there—he’d gotten the same call, left work early. Two police officers were standing by Margaret’s car, talking to her. She was screaming, waving her arms, pointing at the school.
Mia was sitting on the steps of the office, holding Lily tight against her chest. Lily was sobbing, her face buried in Mia’s hoodie.
I ran to them, dropping to my knees.
“Are you okay?” I said, checking them over for injuries. “Did she touch you?”
Mia shook her head, her face pale.
“I saw her walking toward Lily’s classroom,” she said, her voice shaking. “I ran. I got to Lily before she did. I told Lily to run to the office, but she froze. I stood between them. Margaret tried to push past me. I yelled. The principal heard.”
James came over, his face white. He knelt down and pulled both girls into a hug, holding them so tight they winced.
The police officers walked over. One of them, Officer Torres, shook his head.
“We gave her a trespass warning,” he said. “She’s not allowed on school property for a year. If she comes back, she’ll be arrested. But we still don’t have enough for a restraining order. She didn’t touch the girls, didn’t make any explicit threats while we were here.”
He handed me a card.
“Call me the second she tries anything else,” he said. “Anything. Even a text. Even if she just drives past your house slow. We’ll build the case.”
That night, we sat the girls down at the kitchen table. James held up a stack of papers.
“We’re filing for a temporary restraining order tomorrow,” he said. “And we’re going to make it permanent. Margaret will never be allowed to come near you again. Ever.”
Lily looked up, her eyes still red.
“Promise?” she said, her voice small.
“I promise,” James said, leaning over and taking her hand. “I will never let anyone hurt you again. Not her. Not anyone.”
The next two weeks were a blur of lawyer meetings, police reports, and sleepless nights. Margaret didn’t stop. She drove past our house three times a day, slow, staring up at the windows. She left flowers on our porch at 2 a.m., dead roses with thorns still on the stems. She called James’ work, told his boss he was a violent abuser, that he was embezzling money.
James almost lost his job. His boss believed him, but the rumors spread. People stared at him in the office. Whispered when he walked by.
He came home one night, threw his briefcase on the couch, and sank down beside me, his head in his hands.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he said, his voice muffled. “Everywhere I go, she’s there. Every time I turn around, she’s trying to ruin something else. I’m so tired.”
I put my arm around him. Before I could say anything, the doorbell rang.
It was Clara. She was holding a thick stack of papers, a thermos of hot cocoa, and a tired smile.
“Sorry to drop by unannounced,” she said, stepping inside. “But I think I have something that will help.”
She spread the papers out on the coffee table.
Security camera footage. Time-stamped, clear as day. Margaret driving past our house, over and over. Margaret leaving the dead roses. Margaret yelling at the mailman when he asked her what she was doing on our property.
Text messages. Voicemails. Screenshots of the emails she’d sent to James’ boss.
“I’ve had a private investigator following her for two weeks,” Clara said, sipping her cocoa. “She’s not careful. She’s been stupid, actually. All of this is more than enough for a permanent restraining order. And it’s enough to press criminal charges for stalking, if we want.”
She looked at James, her voice soft.
“Arthur left more than money, you know,” she said. “He left a team of the best lawyers in the state. They work for the estate. They work for you now. They’ll take this case pro bono. They’ll make sure she never hurts you again.”
James stared at the papers. For a long second, he didn’t say anything. Then he reached out, took Clara’s hand, and squeezed it.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice thick. “I don’t know how to repay you.”
Clara smiled, wiping a tear from her eye.
“You’re family,” she said. “That’s what family does.”
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That night, for the first time in weeks, I slept through the night.
We were going to win.
