Where were you?” Colby stood in the doorway spinning his car keys around one finger.

Spring transitioned into early summer, painting Westbridge in lush shades of emerald and gold. The school year was winding down, and the final weeks of shop class hummed with the energetic clatter of teenagers wrapping up their semester projects.

My classroom was filled with the rich, earthy scent of freshly sanded pine and oak. I was walking between the workbenches, inspecting a set of dovetail joints crafted by a junior named Marcus, when the classroom door chimed open.

Standing in the doorway was principal Vance. He looked tired, holding a clipboard against his chest, and gestured for me to step outside into the hallway.

“Wade, do you have a minute?” Vance asked quietly as the heavy wooden door clicked shut behind us.

“Sure, Tom. What’s going on?” I wiped my hands on a shop rag.

“It’s about Paige,” Vance said, lowering his voice. “She’s been staying at the county youth shelter for the past three weeks. Social services reached out to the school district trying to map out her educational trajectory. Since she missed almost two months of classes during the upheaval with Russ, her dance academy scholarship was permanently revoked, and she’s currently facing academic probation.”

I listened without interrupting, my face expressionless.

“They asked if there was any chance—any legal pathway at all—where your household might consider temporary guardianship just until she completes her high school credits next year,” Vance continued, watching me carefully. “She’s a wreck, Wade. She told the caseworker that losing her family was entirely her fault, and she asked if you’d even speak to her for five minutes.”

I stood still in the quiet school corridor, listening to the muffled hum of power tools echoing from the classroom next door.

“Tom,” I said evenly. “When Paige lived under my roof, I paid her dance tuition, covered her phone bills, bought her clothes, and treated her with every ounce of care I gave my own daughter. In return, she took my money, helped lock my eight-year-old daughter outside in freezing rain, and told me to my face that she only answered to her biological parents.”

Vance sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I know, Wade. I know what she did. It was despicable.”

“It wasn't just despicable; it was a deliberate choice,” I replied. “I respect boundaries. She drew a very hard line between biological family and everyone else. Her biological father abandoned her, her biological mother went bankrupt and fled the state, and now the consequences of those choices have caught up with her. I cannot rescue someone who actively chose to burn every bridge I built.”

“So your answer is no?”

“My answer is no,” I said firmly. “My responsibility begins and ends with Ivy. My home is a place of safety and peace, not a revolving door for manipulators.”

Vance nodded slowly, accepting my finality without argument. “Alright, Wade. I’ll inform social services that the matter is closed on your end.”

He walked back down the hallway toward the administration office. I stood alone in the quiet corridor for a moment, feeling a profound sense of closure settle over my chest. The chapter of my life involving Nora’s children was permanently closed.

When I walked back into the shop classroom, Marcus looked up from his workbench and grinned. “Mr. Hollis, do these cuts look straight enough for the bookshelf sides?”