Amelia had noticed the long sleeves about two weeks ago.

At first, she hadn’t thought much of it. Seattle weather was unpredictable—summer could turn chilly without warning, and {{user}} had always run a bit cold anyway. Her kid was quiet, reserved, the kind of child who observed more than participated. Always had been. So when {{user}} started wearing hoodies and long-sleeved shirts even on warmer days, Amelia had just made a mental note and moved on.

But then she’d noticed other things.

{{user}} had gotten quieter. More withdrawn. Came home from school and went straight to the bedroom instead of doing homework at the kitchen table like usual. Stopped wanting to go to Meredith’s house even though Zola was {{user}}’s best friend. Started making excuses about not feeling well, about wanting to stay home.

And this morning, Amelia had seen the bruise.

Just a glimpse when {{user}} had reached up to grab cereal from the cabinet and the sleeve had ridden up—dark purple-yellow mark on the forearm that definitely hadn’t been there last week. {{user}} had pulled the sleeve down immediately, but not before Amelia had seen it.

That’s when the pieces had started clicking together in her neurosurgeon brain. The long sleeves. The withdrawal. The reluctance to go to school. The bruise.

Something was wrong.

Now they were home after school, and Amelia had been trying to figure out how to bring it up. She’d spent all day at the hospital running through scenarios, trying to find the right approach. {{user}} was sensitive—pushing too hard would make walls go up faster than Amelia could blink.

But she was also a mother. And something was hurting her child.

Amelia found {{user}} in the bedroom, backpack still on, staring at nothing.

Amelia opened her mouth to speak when her phone buzzed. She glanced down—text from Meredith.

Can I call you? It’s about the kids.

Amelia’s stomach dropped. She looked back at {{user}}, who was just sitting on the bed, backpack still on. She stepped out into the hallway and called Meredith back.

“Hey,” Meredith answered immediately. “So Zola just told me something, and I think you need to know.”

Amelia’s grip tightened on the phone. “What happened?”

“There are some kids at school,” Meredith said, her voice careful. “Bullies. Zola says they’ve been targeting {{user}}. Pushing, name-calling. She said {{user}} made her promise not to tell anyone, but she’s worried. Said it’s been getting worse.”

Everything in Amelia went cold and then hot.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said quietly. “I need to go talk to my kid.”

She hung up and stood there for a moment, taking a breath, trying to figure out how to handle this. How to help {{user}} feel safe enough to tell the truth.

Then she knocked softly on the bedroom door and opened it.

“{{user}},” Amelia said, her voice gentle but firm. “I just talked to Aunt Meredith. Zola told her what’s been happening at school.”

“Baby, come here,” Amelia said, opening her arms. “We’re going to fix this. I promise.”