"You're ugly and old—get away from me!" The words cut the pickup line like a thrown stone. Parents stopped shoving strollers. A stroller wheel swivelled, a child started to cry. "Maya!" I said. My voice came out too loud. "Mommy, go away," she said, grinning at me with a smile I hadn't seen in months. It was deliberate. It was trained. "Sweetie, come here," I said, holding out my arms. I kept my palms open so no one could call me threatening. "Get Daddy!" she shouted, turning her back to me. A woman with a latte gave me a look that said she was choosing sides already. A man in cycling gear snorted and checked his phone. The teacher at the gate kept folding her clipboard like she was closing a book on the moment. "Vaughn?" I said. "You here again?" he answered from behind the mini-SUV, voice calm, clothes clean, the exact brand of shirt that made a bank loan look small. He pushed sunglasses up on his head and lifted Maya with one hand like she weighed nothing. "She—" I started. "You always make a scene," he said, smiling at Maya like she was his Saturday prize. "Catch up, Flo. I'm taking her with me today." "Why—" I stopped. No. Don't give him the leverage of a question. "She wants me," Vaughn said. He looked at a couple of parents as if they were an audience. "She's better with me. Look