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We make our way down the hall, and I don’t even have the energy to stop at my locker to get my backpack. All I want is to get out of this school before I completely fall apart.

“We’ll go home so you can rest,” Dad continues as we walk. “I’ll call Chief Neptune and ask if he can do us the kindness of coming to the house instead of making you walk into that station. If anyone should have to bear that shame, it’s Mr. Collins.”

I stop dead in my tracks.

“Dad, I swear to you, nothing happened between Mr. Collins and me. He was only trying to encourage me. Help me with my writing. That’s all he’s ever done. You can’t punish him for being my friend.”

Dad turns to face me, placing both hands on my shoulders.

“He wasn’t supposed to be your friend, Max. He wasn’t supposed to be anything other than your teacher.”

“But—”

“No.” His fingers tighten slightly. “No buts.”

He closes his eyes and lets out a long, defeated sigh. When he opens them again, he looks so exhausted that I barely recognize him.

“This is on me. All of it. I left you alone because I thought you could handle the responsibility. I was so damn proud of how independent you were that I never stopped to think about whether you should have had to be.”

“Dad—”

“And while I was gone, I left you vulnerable to people who could take advantage of that.”

“But nobody took advantage of me.”

“I’ll never make that mistake again.”

There’s no anger in his voice anymore. Just guilt. The kind that makes his shoulders sag, and his eyes look older than they did when we walked out of that office.

“Tomorrow, I’ll tell my boss I can’t do the long hauls anymore. I’ll ask him to put me on local routes so I can be home every night.”

My heart sinks. “You can’t do that. We need the money.”

“We’ll manage.”

“Dad, you know we can’t afford—”

“We’ve managed on worse.”

He says it with such finality that I know there’s no point arguing, but then his eyes turn glassy again, I realize this isn’t really about his job. Or the money. Or even what happened in Principal Hargrove’s office.

“I can’t let you go down the same road as Melissa.”

And there she is—my mother.

Even after all this time, her ghost still manages to find its way into every terrible thing that happens to me.

“I lost her, Max.” He draws in a slow breath. “And that almost killed me. But losing you?” He shakes his head fiercely, his hands tightening around my shoulders. “No. I couldn’t survive that, sweetheart. I couldn’t live in a world where something happened to you, too.”

The pain in his voice silences every argument I have left. Not because I suddenly agree with him, but because I finally understand that he’s stopped listening.

Maybe not forever. But right now, when Dad looks at me, he doesn’t see his daughter. He sees my mother. Her addiction. Her mistakes. The way her life ended.

And no matter how many times I tell him I’m not her, I can’t seem to make him see the difference.

That’s what hurts the most.

Not the photograph. Not the pills. Not even the suspension.