That Friday, I followed them.
Debbie picked Ellie up like usual.
I waited… then got in my car.
They drove past the art center.
Turned left.
Into an older neighborhood.
Then stopped at a faded green house.
I recognized it—Debbie’s friend Helen’s house. She wasn’t even in the country.
My pulse raced.
I parked down the street.
Watched them go inside.
Then I followed.
The door was unlocked.
“Ellie?” I called.
I stepped inside.
Soft hum of a machine.
Fabric smell.
I followed the sound.
And froze.
Ellie sat at a table covered in colorful fabric, carefully guiding cloth under a sewing machine.
Debbie knelt beside her, helping.
They both looked up.
“Mom!” Ellie smiled.
“Wren… why did you follow us?” Debbie asked.
“Why are you lying to me?” I shot back. “Why aren’t you taking her to art class?”
Silence.
Then Ellie whispered,
“Can I tell her?”
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