RED PEN

BROOKLYN, MORNING*

Waaaaaaaaaah!

The cry cut through the apartment like a siren.

Waaaaaaaaaah! Waaaaaaaaaah!

Violet Brooks stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her damp body, water still dripping from the ends of her long dark hair. Her jaw was tight. Her eyes, heavy with exhaustion, darted toward the wooden cot in the corner of the small room she shared with her six-month-old daughter.

Iris was squirming in the cot, tiny fists clenched, face red and crumpled like a crushed rose.

"Shh, shh, I'm coming" Violet whispered, crossing the room. But frustration was already crawling up her spine. She hadn't slept more than three hours. Again.

From the hallway, the clink of coffee mug against counter, then footsteps.

Aunt Peyton appeared in the doorway, already dressed in her navy blue scrubs, car keys in one hand, travel mug in the other. At thirty, Peyton looked more like an older sister than an aunt—sharp cheekbones, tired eyes that had seen too much, and a permanent expression of calm efficiency.

"She's up early" Peyton said, not a question.

"She's always up early" Violet muttered, grabbing a blanket to wrap around herself better.

Peyton took a sip of her coffee. "Well, I'm heading out in ten. You're resuming today, right? Hawthorne?"

Violet nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "First day."

"Then you need to figure out the baby situation. Daycare or nanny. You can't leave her here alone, and I can't take her to the hospital with me"

"I know."

"Do you? Because last night you said you'd call someone, and I didn't hear a phone ring."

Violet pressed her lips together. Peyton wasn't wrong, she had procrastinated. The thought of leaving Iris with a stranger made her stomach turn. But what choice did she have?

"I'll call the nanny" Violet said quietly.

Peyton studied her for a moment, then nodded. "There's formula in the fridge if she won't settle. And Violet?"

"Yeah?"

"Today is a fresh start. Don't waste it"

Before Violet could respond, Peyton grabbed her bag, slipped on her shoes by the door, and walked out without looking back. The door clicked shut. The apartment fell quiet except for Iris's crying, which had softened to pitiful whimpers.

Violet exhaled and walked to the cot.

She lifted Iris carefully, cradling the small warm body against her chest. The baby's face was still flushed, tear tracks glistening on chubby cheeks. But when Violet looked down at her, the frustration melted. Just a little.

Iris had Violet's nose, Violet's small mouth and Violet's dark hair, thin and soft as dandelion fluff.

But her eyes?

Those were not Violet's.

Iris's eyes were a pale, striking shade of iridescent grey-blue like a winter sky or shattered glass.

Iris eyes.

That was the only way Violet could describe them. She had never seen anything like them. Not on anyone she knew.

Maybe the father had those eyes.

She would never know.

"Iris," Violet whispered, kissing the baby's forehead. "My little Iris"

She moved to the small couch, adjusting the towel around her as she brought Iris to her chest. Iris latched on immediately, greedy and desperate, tiny fingers pressing against Violet's skin.

While the baby fed, Violet sang.

"Hush now, don't you cry…"

She didn't know all the words to most lullabies. She made them up as she went. Iris didn't care anyway, she just needed her mother's voice.

"Mama's got to leave today… but she'll come back. She always will…"

By the time Iris was done, her eyes were heavy, her belly full. Violet burped her gently, kissed her forehead again, and laid her back in the cot. Iris blinked once, twice. Then her iridescent eyes fluttered closed.

Violet stood there for a moment, watching her daughter sleep.

Then she grabbed her phone and dialed the nanny service.

Twenty minutes later, a woman named Mrs. Caffrey was on her way.

Violet turned to the small mirror nailed to the back of her bedroom door. She studied her reflection. Dark hair, still damp, falling past her shoulders. Pale skin. Lips that rarely smiled anymore. Eyes the color of honey in shadow.

She was beautiful. She knew that. But beauty had never saved her before.

She pulled on a simple black sweater, high-waisted jeans, and her only pair of boots that didn't have scuff marks. She twisted her hair into a low ponytail, added a swipe of mascara and a brush of color to her cheeks.

First day, she told her reflection.

The doorbell rang.

“Mrs. Caffrey,” the nanny said from the other side of the door.

Violet grabbed her backpack, checked on Iris one last time, and walked out the door.

•••

HAWTHORNE UNIVERSITY*

Hawthorne University did not look like any school Violet had ever attended.

She stood at the edge of the main entrance and took it in slowly. The campus was wide and sprawling, all stone archways and ivy-covered walls, the kind of architecture that whispered old money without ever having to say it out loud. The lawns were trimmed to a precise green. The pathways were lined with iron lampposts that probably looked beautiful at night.

And the cars?

BMWs, Teslas and a few Porsches. Even a Mercedes with tires that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. They were packed into every parking spot, gleaming under the morning sun like they were on display.

The students caught her attention next.

Girls in designer coats and heeled boots, their hair blown out and perfect. Boys walking with the kind of confidence that came from never having to check a price tag.

She adjusted the strap of her bag and kept walking.

She wasn't poor. Her parents were solidly middle class. Her father managed a small accounting firm, and her mother worked as a dental hygienist.

She checked her phone for the building number. Hawthorne Hall, room 204. Her first class will be taking place there, and according to the map on her screen, she needed to turn left at the fountain and walk past the library.

The campus was massive and by the time she found Hawthorne Hall, she was already five minutes late. The building was older than the others, but well kept. The entrance was a set of heavy wooden doors that groaned when she pushed them open.

Inside, the hallway stretched long and narrow, lined with locked classrooms and it was too quiet.

That was when she saw the girl.

She was hunched against the wall near the end of the corridor, knees pulled up to her chest, a bag slumped beside her. Her head was down, dark hair falling over her face, and her shoulders were shaking just slightly. Like she was crying or trying not to.

Violet slowed down and checked her phone again. Three minutes until her professor probably locked the door.

She should keep walking, she should mind her own business, she didn't know this girl, she didn't know anyone here either.

But her feet stopped anyway.

The girl looked up. Her eyes were red, her cheeks blotchy, and there was a desperate kind of relief on her face when she saw Violet standing there.

"Oh thank God," the girl said, her voice cracking. "Please. I need a favor. Do you have an extra pad? And maybe some extra clothes? I'm stained and I can't move from where I am."

Violet blinked, then she looked down and understood. The girl was sitting on a dark colored hoodie, probably to hide what had happened, but the stain had already bled through the fabric of her light grey sweatpants, badly.

"I have a pad," Violet said, reaching into her backpack. She always carried an extra. Old habit from high school after too many close calls. Her fingers found the small wrapped package near the bottom of her bag and she pulled it out, handing it over.

The girl took it like it was made of gold. "Thank you. Seriously. Thank you."

"It's fine," Violet said, already turning to leave. She was definitely going to be late now.

"Wait. Please."

Violet stopped.

The girl was struggling to her feet now, one hand holding the pad, the other braced against the wall. Her outfit was clearly expensive, a cream colored sweater with some designer label Violet didn't recognize, but right now it was wrinkled and stained and she looked completely miserable.

"I have clothes in the lounge upstairs," the girl said quickly. "It's just down the hall and up the stairs. Room 307. The password is 1310. Can you please grab something for me? Anything. Sweatpants, leggings. I don't care. I just can't walk up there like this."

Violet looked toward the stairs at the end of the corridor. Then she looked back at the girl, then she looked at her phone.

Class was starting in two minutes. If she went upstairs, found the lounge, grabbed the clothes, and came back down, she would be at least ten minutes late and it's just her first day.

But the girl was still looking at her with those desperate red eyes, and Violet knew what it felt like to be stuck somewhere with no one to help.

"Fine," she said. "1310?"

"Yes. Thank you. Third floor, room 307. The code is 1310."

Violet nodded and walked out.

She walked toward the stairs at the end of the corridor.