After years of learning at home, my 10-year-old son, who has Down syndrome, was finally given the chance to go to a regular school. He was happier than I’d seen him in years. But just five days after he started, I got a phone call from the principal that left me shaken.

Celeste looked out at the rows of folding chairs. At the parents who, an hour before, had been ready to vote with her. Not one of them would meet her eyes now.

She stood up. She unpinned the gold hummingbird from her lapel, looked at it in her palm for a second, and set it down on the table next to the water pitcher. Then she followed Officer Lim out the side door without another word.

The brooch stayed there on the table, shining under the gym lights, long after she was gone.

There was no vote that night. The petition was withdrawn before the meeting ended. Three parents who’d commented on that Facebook post came up to us afterward, one by one, and apologized to Milo. One of them cried.

Out in the hallway, as we were putting on our coats, Brayden came up to us. His father hovered a few steps behind him, gray-faced. Celeste was nowhere to be seen.