The second was a photo of me, my daughter, and Davide. Our family. Except Luna had drawn a red circle around my face and scrawled a word across it that I won't repeat.
[You homewrecker! You dared steal my husband and have an illegitimate child? It's a miracle I didn't have my son beat that brat to death!]
The group chat detonated. Message after message, parents I'd never spoken to piling on with insults aimed at me and my daughter. Women who smiled at me during drop-off. Fathers who'd nodded politely at school events. All of them, suddenly righteous, suddenly vicious.
Even the teacher tagged Luna's name with a reply:
[Massimo did well today. I'll make sure to give him a gold star tomorrow.]
Luna sent a smug emoji and taunted me directly:
[If you're mad about it, come find me. My son and I are still at the Academy.]
I stared at the screen until the words blurred. Then I looked down at Emilia. She was still holding the hem of my sleeve, her grip so tight her knuckles had gone white. She hadn't made a sound. She never cried out. That was how I always knew it was bad. The silence.
I picked her up, carried her to the armored sedan, and buckled her in.