Lisa drove slowly as she approached the school, her hands tight around the steering wheel. In the rearview mirror, Mike stared silently out the window, his small face pale and distant. The silence between them wasn’t peaceful—it was heavy, suffocating, filled with everything they had lost.
The town still didn’t feel like home. Every street felt unfamiliar. Every face felt like a stranger watching them from a distance.
She hoped this fresh start would help them heal. But hope was fragile.
Ever since his father’s death, Mike had changed. He barely laughed anymore. He barely spoke. Sometimes Lisa would catch him staring into space, as if he were listening to someone she couldn’t see.
“Have a good day, sweetie,” she called gently as he opened the car door. “Be brave.”
He nodded without looking at her.
The door closed with a hollow sound.
Lisa sat there a moment longer than necessary, watching him walk into the building alone.
She had never felt more helpless.
That afternoon, something was different.
Mike came running toward her, his face glowing in a way she hadn’t seen in months.
“Mom!” he shouted, climbing into the car. “I made a new friend!”
Lisa blinked in surprise. “You did?”
“Her name is Sophie!” he said, bouncing in his seat. “She’s really nice. She likes the same things as me.”
Lisa felt something inside her chest loosen. Relief. Gratitude. Hope.
“That’s wonderful, honey.”
For the first time since his father’s funeral, Mike smiled like a child again.
And Lisa silently thanked whoever—or whatever—had brought Sophie into his life.
Days passed, and Sophie became all Mike talked about.
“She invited me to her house,” he said one afternoon, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his backpack. “She lives with her mom. She gave me her number.”
Lisa hesitated.
Something about the number, written in hurried, uneven ink, unsettled her. She couldn’t explain why.
Still, she texted.
Hi, I’m Lisa, Mike’s mom. He told me Sophie invited him over tomorrow. Is that okay with you?
The reply came quickly.
Hi, Lisa! Yes, Sophie already told me about it. We’d love to have Mike over.
Lisa smiled.
Then another message appeared.
Maybe bring some wine, so we moms aren’t too bored.
Lisa chuckled nervously.
Maybe this was her chance too. Another mother. Another woman raising a child alone. Someone who understood.
Someone who knew what loneliness felt like.
The next day, Lisa stood at Sophie’s front door with a bottle of wine in her hand.
Mike knocked eagerly.
The door opened.
Sophie appeared, grinning.
“Mike!”
They ran inside together, their laughter echoing down the hallway.
Lisa waited.
Then Sophie’s mother stepped into view.
And Lisa’s blood turned to ice.
Alice.
Her worst nightmare.
Her worst enemy.
Alice stared at her, her lips curling into a thin, poisonous smile.
“Lisa,” she said.
Lisa’s throat went dry. “Alice.”
Time collapsed.
She was seventeen again. Standing alone in the hallway while Alice whispered lies behind her back. Watching Alice steal her boyfriend. Hearing the laughter. Feeling the humiliation.
Alice hadn’t changed.
Her eyes still carried that same cold cruelty.
“You haven’t changed,” Alice said softly. “Still invisible.”
Lisa forced herself to step inside.
But every instinct in her body screamed that she shouldn’t be there.
From that day forward, something felt wrong.
Mike still visited Sophie.
But he began saying strange things.
“She says she remembers Daddy,” Mike whispered one night.
Lisa froze.
“What do you mean?”
“Sophie says she saw him.”
Lisa’s heart pounded.
“That’s impossible.”
Mike frowned. “She said he was watching me.”
Lisa told herself it was imagination. Children said strange things when they were grieving.
Still… the words lingered.
Watching me.
Then came the call from the school.
Lisa rushed to the office.
Alice was already there.
Waiting.
Watching.
Miss Terry’s voice was serious. “Mike has been bullying Sophie.”
Lisa stared at her, unable to breathe.
“No,” she whispered. “That’s not possible.”
Alice sighed dramatically. “Sophie’s been terrified.”
Lisa looked at Alice—and saw something.
Not sadness.
Not concern.
Satisfaction.
Lisa’s stomach dropped.
This wasn’t about the children.
This was about her.
It always had been.
At home, Mike sat quietly on his bed.
“Mike,” Lisa said gently. “Have you been mean to Sophie?”
His eyes filled with tears.
“No, Mom. I would never hurt her.”
He hesitated.
Then whispered:
“She said her mom told her to say those things.”
Lisa’s heart stopped.
“What?”
“She said her mom hates you.”
Lisa felt cold all over.
Days later, there was a knock at the door.
Lisa opened it.
Alice stood there.
But she looked different.
Smaller.
Broken.
“I came to apologize,” Alice said.
Lisa said nothing.
Alice’s voice trembled. “I lied.”
The words hung in the air like smoke.
“Why?” Lisa asked.
Alice’s eyes filled with tears.
“Because you were always better than me.”
She laughed bitterly.
“I stole your boyfriend. I ruined your life. And I still ended up alone.”
She looked up.
“When I saw you again… strong… surviving… I hated you for it.”
Lisa stared at her.
All those years of pain.
All those unanswered questions.
All that damage.
Alice wiped her eyes.
“I’ll tell the school the truth.”
She hesitated.
“Please… let the kids stay friends. Sophie needs him. And… maybe I need you.”
Lisa didn’t respond immediately.
She studied Alice carefully.
For the first time in her life…
Alice looked afraid.
Not powerful.
Not cruel.
Just human.
Just broken.
Lisa stepped aside slowly.
“Come in,” she said.
Alice entered cautiously.
They sat in silence.
Two women.
Two mothers.
Two survivors of their own mistakes.
In the other room, their children laughed.
And Lisa realized something that sent a quiet chill through her.
Sometimes, the people who hurt you the most…
Were also the ones who understood your pain best.
But one question still lingered in the back of her mind—
Had Alice truly changed…
Or was this just another game she hadn’t finished playing yet?
