Frank met my eyes.
For the first time since our conversation began, his voice sounded unmistakably firm.
“Because your little girl was standing on the other side of those doors.”
Tears began running down my cheeks.
They weren’t the desperate tears I’d shed when the school bus vanished.
These tears came quietly.
Frank waited patiently while I took a tissue from my handbag and dried my face.
“I’m truly sorry,” I repeated.
Frank gave a small nod.
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“I’ve already spoken with the district. I’ll submit a written statement correcting everything I reported.”
“Thank you.”
“And I want them to understand what you actually did.”
He gently shook his head.
“I simply followed our safety procedures, Mrs. Carter. That’s what we’re trained to do.”
“Perhaps. But you were the person behind that steering wheel.”
He remained silent.
I glanced toward the bus.
