Wren stood out in the hallway, chatting briefly with Ms. Miller.
Ms. Miller looked a bit apologetic.
"I'll have a private conversation with the parent who spoke out earlier. Leo really did wonderfully today."
Wren shook her head.
"Thank you for looking out for him."
"He stood up for himself beautifully," Ms. Miller replied. "Ms. Whitaker, he really has changed a lot lately. Not that he's suddenly overly energetic, but he's finally willing to express himself."
Wren looked into the classroom.
Leo was currently looking down, sharing his flowers with his classmates.
She murmured softly, "I know."
As Lawrence walked over, Ms. Miller tactfully excused herself.
Only the two of them remained in the hallway.
Lawrence watched their son inside the classroom.
"I never knew he was so terrified during family dinners."
Wren didn't look at him.
"There are a lot of things you don't know."
The words carried no barb.
They were just the truth.
Lawrence remained silent.
After a long while, he said, "Thank you for what was said today."
Wren turned her head.
"What part?"
"That he wasn't taught to hate me."
Wren looked at him, her gaze detached.
"Lawrence, I never needed to teach my child to hate you just to prove you were in the wrong."
That statement cut deeper than any reprimand ever could.
Lawrence's throat tightened painfully.
Inside the classroom, Leo looked back and saw them standing together; his steps faltered for a moment.
He walked over, hugging his flowers.
"Dad."
Lawrence looked down at him.
"Yeah."
Leo looked at him, then over at Wren.
He asked in a small voice, "You guys weren't fighting, were you?"
That question instantly silenced both adults.
Wren knelt down first.



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