His voice stayed low. “Five minutes to tell Iris the truth, Jane. Ma’am. Or I will.”
And just like that, the worst thing I had ever done as a mother walked into my house wearing a black tuxedo.
***
Earlier that afternoon, Iris had sat in front of my vanity mirror while I pinned the last curl into her hair.
“Ow, Mom.”
“Stop moving, then, or I might curl your ear.”
“Excuse me, Ryan?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Please don’t joke with a curling iron near my head.”
I smiled and fixed the curl anyway.
Iris had pretended for months not to care whenever Ryan texted.
Ryan was the boy every girl wanted: football captain, honor student, and polite enough to lower mothers’ guards.
***
“Do I look okay?” she asked.
“You look beautiful, sweetheart.”
She touched the strap of her dress. “I feel like something is missing.”
“Do I look okay?”
