I turned toward Owen.
“What bullying?”
He rubbed his jaw.
“After you left, Greta told me she didn’t want to go to camp. I asked why.”
He looked at her.
“It took a while, but she finally told me several girls from school had been targeting her for weeks. Those same girls are here.”
My chest tightened.
“Weeks?”
“She showed me messages. They told her nobody wanted her in their cabin. They told her camp would be worse because she wouldn’t be able to avoid them.”
I looked at Greta.
She seemed so small sitting there.
Owen lowered his voice.
“She begged me not to tell you. She knew you had been called into work. She didn’t want you leaving your shift because of her.”
Suddenly, I remembered what she had said that morning.
“I don’t have to go. I can stay home.”
I had thought she was being thoughtful.
She had actually been trying to escape something she was afraid of.
I should have asked why.
But there wasn’t time to blame myself.
Greta needed me.
“Show me the messages.”
Karen placed several printed screenshots in front of me.
The words weren’t direct threats.
They were quieter than that.
Cold.
Mocking.
“Nobody wants you in our cabin.”
“Can’t wait for camp. You won’t be able to hide there.”
I felt anger rise immediately.
I looked at Greta.
“None of this is your fault.”
She finally raised her eyes.
Then I turned toward Owen.
“Helping her was one thing. Promising a ten-year-old you would hide something this serious from me was another. And you started making decisions without even telling me.”
“She trusted me,” Owen said. “I didn’t want to betray that.”
“You’re not her parent.”
“I know. I just thought I could fix the immediate problem and give her time to tell you herself.”
Karen stepped in.
“I couldn’t agree to keep this from you. I’m responsible for Greta while she’s here, and you needed to know.”
Then she added,
“There’s something else. I contacted the mother of the main girl involved. She’s on her way.”
Ten minutes later, another woman walked into the office.
She was already angry.
But the first thing she said surprised me.
“I’ve seen what my daughter sent Greta. It was cruel. I’m not defending it.”
I nodded.
“Thank you.”
Then she looked at me.
“But have you seen what your daughter sent?”
My stomach dropped.
“What are you talking about?”
She pulled out her phone.
On the screen was an embarrassing photograph of her daughter.
Beneath it was a cruel caption.
And at the top was a group chat involving several classmates.
The message had been sent from Greta’s account.
I felt the air leave my lungs.
The woman’s voice shook.
“After weeks of fighting, your daughter got hold of this picture and sent it to half their grade.”
Owen slowly turned toward Greta.
“Did you send that?”
Her face crumpled.
“Yes.”
He stared at her.
“You didn’t show me this morning.”
Greta’s voice became tiny.
“I knew you wouldn’t help me if you saw it.”
Owen leaned back.
He had spent the entire morning defending a version of the story Greta had carefully edited.
That didn’t mean the bullying wasn’t real.
It was.
But Greta’s retaliation was real too.
And I wasn’t going to excuse one because of the other.
The other mother started speaking again, but Owen interrupted.
“She was being bullied for weeks—”
“Owen.”
I didn’t raise my voice.
“I’ve got this.”
He stopped.
And for the first time that day, he sat back and let me be Greta’s mother.
I looked at the other woman.