Chapter 169

Iris

“And this is where I sit during reading time!” Miles shouts as he pulls Arthur and me toward a corner of the classroom filled with bean bags and pillows. “Miss Thompson lets me pick any book I want from the special shelf because I’m one of the best readers in class.”

“Is that so?” Arthur asks with a grin. He glances at me with a sparkle in those green eyes, and I can’t help but return his smile.

The classroom itself is everything I hoped it would be when we enrolled Miles at Wellington Academy. The walls are covered with the children’s artwork, the reading corner is stocked with books of varying difficulty levels, and there’s even a science station set up by the windows where small plants are growing in little jars.

Miles’ teacher, Miss Thompson, is a woman in her early thirties with curly red hair and a warm smile. Today is our first parent-teacher day of the year, and Arthur and I couldn’t be more excited. Miles is certainly excited to show off his classroom, too.

We wait our turn as the teacher meets with each family alphabetically. When she finally calls our names, the three of us make our way over to her desk to hear about Miles’ progress.

“Mr. President, Miss Willford,” Miss Thompson says, standing to shake our hands. “I must say, Miles has been an absolute joy to have in class. Academically, he’s performing above grade level in nearly every subject, particularly reading and science.”

Pride overcomes my nerves. I glance at Arthur, who is puffing his chest out a little at the praise for our son.

“His mathematical skills are on par with expectations for his age, although we’ve noticed he sometimes rushes through problems without double-checking his work. It’s something we’re working on.”

“That sounds familiar,” Arthur murmurs, nudging me, and I roll my eyes.

Miss Thompson continues, sharing examples of Miles’ work and highlighting his progress over the first few months of school. His artistic skills are remarkable for his age, and his fine motor abilities are developing quite nicely. His speech impediment, too, is practically nonexistent at this point.

“Socially,” Miss Thompson continues, “Miles has made several close friends. He’s particularly close with a couple of children, but he gets along well with everyone. He always likes to make sure no one is left out of games or activities.” She beams and ruffles his hair. “He’s my little helper around the classroom.”

I exchange a glance with Arthur, both of us clearly thinking the same thing: We’ve done something right with this one. Somehow, despite everything, our son is turning out alright. I’ll admit there were times I worried our actions might harm him, but if anything, he seems more resilient for it.

“There is one thing I wanted to discuss,” Miss Thompson goes on. “Wellington’s annual talent show is coming up next month, and Miles has expressed interest in participating.”

“I want to play piano like Veronica!” Miles announces, and I feel a cold drop in my stomach at the mention of her name. Arthur’s hand tightens almost imperceptibly on Miles’s shoulder.

“I didn’t know you were interested in piano,” I say carefully.

Miles shrugs. “She’s so cool. She even told me she could teach me sometime.”

“Did she now?” Arthur murmurs. I stiffen; when did she have a chance to talk to Miles about that? The children’s day event, perhaps? After what Selina told me—assuming it’s all true—I’m not particularly thrilled about her speaking with my son behind my back.

“Well, we’d certainly support you in the talent show,” I say quickly, forcing a smile. “Whatever you want to do.”

“Even if it’s not piano,” Arthur adds meaningfully.

Miss Thompson, seemingly unaware of the tension, smiles brightly. “Wonderful! The children will begin preparing next week. Parents are welcome to help with costumes, props, or rehearsals.”

The rest of the consultation passes quickly. Miss Thompson assures us that Miles is thriving at Wellington, both academically and socially. As we wrap up, I can’t help but feel a sense of relief. Despite the controversy surrounding our decision to send Miles to a private school, it’s clear that it was the right choice for him.

After the consultation ends, Arthur takes Miles to look at the class pet while I make my way to the principal’s office for a brief appointment. The room is spacious and elegant, with large windows overlooking the school grounds.

“Miss Willford,” she greets me warmly. “You said you wanted to speak to me today?”

I nod. “I’ve been thinking about what you mentioned during our tour—about the scholarship program. And I think I’d like to establish a new scholarship. One specifically for children with artistic talents who might not otherwise be able to afford Wellington.”

Dr. Elliot’s eyebrows shoot up. “A scholarship? Endorsed by you and Arthur?”

“I want it to be anonymous,” I clarify quickly. “I’d… prefer not to have my name attached to it.”

She looks a little confused. “May I ask why?”

I think about Giulia’s words at the orphanage, about charity being more effective behind closed doors. “I believe the focus should be on the children benefiting from the scholarship, not on who’s providing it.”

Dr. Elliot studies me for a moment, then nods. “I respect that, Miss Willford. We can certainly arrange for the scholarship to be anonymous.”

I’m relieved by how easy this all is. Far easier than having to deal with public scrutiny, that’s for sure. “Can you provide me with the necessary information to get started? Cost breakdowns, application procedures, that sort of thing?”

“Of course.” She reaches into her desk and pulls out a folder. “This contains all the standard information about our existing scholarship programs. It should give you a good starting point.”

I take the folder, already mentally calculating how many children I might be able to support. Not many on my own, perhaps, but with my parents’ help and maybe some of the money from selling my artwork…

“I’ll prepare a proposal soon,” I promise, standing to leave. “Thank you for your support.”

“Thank you for your generosity,” Dr. Elliot replies. “It’s students like Miles and parents like you that make Wellington special.”

I find Arthur and Miles waiting for me in the hallway, Miles excitedly recounting every detail about the class turtle to anyone who will listen. When he sees me, he runs over, grabbing my hand.

“Can we get a turtle, Mommy? Please? I’ll take care of it, I promise!”

I laugh, tucking the folder under my arm. “What about Scout? Isn’t he enough of a handful?”

“Scout could use a friend for when I’m at school!”

The three of us make our way through the hallways toward the exit, Miles chattering the whole way about what he would name his turtle and how he would care for it. As we step outside into the bright afternoon sunlight, I’m momentarily blinded. My sight is still adjusting when I hear angry voices coming from the street.

“There she is! The champagne socialist!”

I squint into the direction of the shouts and see a small group of people gathered at the edge of the school property, behind the security line. They’re holding signs with slogans like “PUBLIC SCHOOLS MATTER” and “HYPOCRITE.”

“Mommy, who are those people?” Miles asks, tugging my hand.

Before I can answer, Arthur pulls us both closer to his side, signaling to Ezra and the security team who immediately move to intercept the protesters.

But they’re too quick. One of them hurls something toward us. I gasp as I see the rotten tomato sailing through the air, aimed directly at Miles’ face. Instinctively, I move to shield him, pulling him against me and turning my back to the projectile.

I brace for the impact, but it never comes. Instead, I hear a wet splat followed by Arthur sighing heavily. I turn to see him standing between us and the protesters, the front of his pristine white shirt now stained with red pulp.

“Get them to the car,” he orders Ezra, his voice deadly calm. “Now.”