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.

“I believe you,” Officer Lim said. “But he won’t tell us how they got there.”

I turned Milo’s face up toward mine.

“Baby. Did you take those things?”

He shook his head hard.

“Do you know who did?”

His lip started to wobble. He shook his head again, but he wouldn’t look at me.

“Milo, you can tell me anything.”

“I can’t.” It came out as a wail. “It’s a secret. I promised. If I tell, I’m not in the club anymore. And then I don’t have anybody to sit with.”

My heart cracked straight down the middle.

Principal Whitfield cleared his throat. “District policy is that when a theft over five hundred dollars is found in a student’s possession, that student is suspended pending investigation. I’m sorry. I don’t like it either. Milo will need to stay home next week while we sort this out.”

Milo let out a sob and pressed his face into my neck.