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I glance around the office, taking in the pristine surfaces, the carefully arranged awards, the impersonal decor. It’s efficient, cold, and exactly what I thought I wanted.
But now it feels... empty.
I think about Annie again, about her wide eyes and the way she looked at me last night, like she didn’t know whether to run or stay.
I haven’t gotten a call or a resignation letter yet, but I wouldn’t be surprised if one shows up.
And if it does? That’ll be on me.
I stare out the window, the city sprawling below. I’ve made mistakes before, plenty of them. But this? This can’t happen again.
Not with Annie. Not with anyone who matters to Robbie.
I need to make sure she knows that nothing like that will ever happen again.
Chapter Ten
Annie
The late spring sun filters through the enormous glass windows of Robbie’s school as I step into the front lobby, the air cool and tinged with the faint smell of fresh wax on the tile floors. The space is as fancy as you’d expect from a private academy where tuition probably costs more than my annual salary used to be.
Hell, it probably costs more than what my salary is now.
Polished wood accents frame the walls, and a chandelier that looks like it belongs in a five-star hotel hangs in the center of the room.
Everything is pristine, from the velvet ropes separating the check-in area to the impeccably dressed woman manning the front desk, her blond bob sleek and her smile professionally practiced.
“Good morning. Here for Field Day?” she asks as I approach.
“Yes,” I reply, adjusting the strap of my crossbody bag. “I’m Annie Fox. I’m one of the volunteers.”
She scans her clipboard and then nods. “Ah, yes, here you are. The volunteer coordinators are meeting in the auditorium. Just follow the signs down the main hallway.”
“Thank you.” I give her a polite smile and follow her directions, my flats making soft thuds against the gleaming tile as I walk.
The school is just as extravagant on the inside as it is on the outside. Wide hallways stretch ahead, each lined with custom-built frames painted in the school colors with portraits of what must be prominent people. The walls are adorned with framed artwork and plaques that showcase decades of academic and athletic achievements.
I shake my head as I pass a display case filled with trophies, thinking about how different this place is from the schools I grew up in. It’s not just another world; it’s another universe.
The auditorium is buzzing when I step inside, filled with volunteers gathered in small groups, chatting and laughing. Some of them look like they belong on the cover of a magazine—perfect hair, designer clothes, and an air of ease that comes from having more money than they know what to do with.
But it’s not just parents. There are plenty of nannies and other household staff here, too. You can tell by the way some of them hover, quiet and deferential, their hands folded neatly in front of them as they listen to instructions.
The wealth in this room is staggering, but what stands out more is the lack of actual parents.
I sigh, my chest tightening as I think about Robbie. This is supposed to be a fun day for the kids, a chance to run aroundand let loose. But for so many of them, their parents couldn’t even bother to show up.
Like Cole.
What’s the point of all that money if you can’t take one day to spend with your kid?
I force the thought away, scanning the room for the coordinators.
“Hi, excuse me,” I say, approaching a woman with a clipboard who looks like she’s in charge. She’s middle-aged, with curly dark hair and a kind smile.
“Hello,” she says, looking up. “You’re here to volunteer?”
“Yes,” I confirm. “I’m Annie Fox. I actually wanted to talk to you about a small adjustment, if possible. Robbie, Robbie Wagner, the student I’m here with, is very shy, and I don’t think he has many friends.” I lower my voice when saying that, though Robbie is nowhere near. “I promised him that if he doesn’t have anyone to do some of the events with, I’d step in. Would that be okay? I know we’re volunteering, but…”