Chapter 145
Iris
A little under an hour later, the large black gates of Wellington Academy open to let us in. I can’t help but gasp softly as I look up at the large building. It really is beautiful—red brick with white trim, large windows, a manicured lawn, and a big wrought iron fence with manned gates so strangers can’t just walk onto the school grounds. Beautiful, intimidating, and most of all: safe.
It looks exactly like what a prestigious private school should look like. But I can’t help but feel a little guilty.
Is it hypocritical of me to be looking at private schools for Miles when I’m advocating for better public school funding?
Before I can spiral further into that thought, the front doors swing open, and a woman in her fifties with silver-streaked dark hair steps out to greet us.
“Mr. President, Ms. Willford,” she says warmly, extending her hand. “I’m Dr. Katherine Elliot, the principal of Wellington Academy. Please, come inside.”
Arthur shakes her hand first. “Thank you for meeting with us.”
She beams, shaking his hand, then shakes mine. “Thank you for considering our school. This is quite the honor!”
After that, we get started on the tour. Dr. Elliot takes us through classrooms designed for different age groups. The kindergarten rooms have reading nooks with plush pillows, art stations with every supply imaginable, and small tables perfectly sized for five-year-olds.
The playground in particular, though, takes my breath away. There’s a large jungle gym that looks like a treehouse village, a garden with all kinds of different plants, and several quiet areas with benches under shady trees.
Arthur squeezes my hand as we look around, and I know he’s thinking the same thing I am—Miles would love this. Especially the garden and the jungle gym.
Next, we’re taken to the music room, the library, and finally to a small office where a woman with curly red hair is waiting for us.
“This is Dr. Reynolds, our neurodiversity program coordinator,” Dr. Elliot introduces us.
Dr. Reynolds shakes our hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I understand you have a son on the spectrum?”
“Yes,” I reply, glancing at Arthur. “Miles is five, and he was diagnosed when he was a toddler. He’s high-functioning, but he has certain challenges with social cues and can get overwhelmed easily.”
Dr. Reynolds nods. “That’s very common. At Wellington, we take an integrated approach. Neurodivergent children are in regular classrooms, but we provide additional support tailored to their specific needs, so they can receive what they require without being isolated from the other kids.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’ve been holding. All I’ve ever wanted for Miles is to be accepted, accommodated, and not isolate. So far, this place is perfect. Almost too perfect to be true. I want to pinch myself.
Over the next fifteen minutes, she goes on to explain their methodology in more detail—how they have sensory tools available in every classroom, how teachers are trained to recognize signs of overstimulation, how they have quiet rooms where kids can decompress if needed. It sounds wonderful, and exactly what Miles needs to thrive.
After our meeting with Dr. Reynolds, we’re taken back to Dr. Elliot’s office to discuss the enrollment process.
“We would be honored to have Miles join us at Wellington,” Dr. Elliot says. “Based on what you’ve shared about him, I believe he would thrive here.”
I glance at Arthur, and I can see my own thoughts reflected in his eyes. This place really is perfect. But I hesitate, because of that damn guilt again.
“Dr. Elliot,” I say carefully, “I have to ask… I’ve been working on initiatives to improve arts funding in public schools because I believe every child deserves access to a quality education. But here I am, considering sending my own son to a private school…”
Dr. Elliot’s expression softens as she realizes what I’m getting at. “Miss Willford, if I may… advocating for better public education and choosing what’s best for your individual child are not mutually exclusive actions.”
“She’s right, Iris,” Arthur says softly. “We’re in a financial position where we can choose what’s best for Miles, but it doesn’t diminish your work to improve conditions for all children.”
I bite my lip, still uncertain.
“I understand your concern,” Dr. Elliot continues. “But if it helps, many of our families sponsor scholarships for children who couldn’t otherwise afford to attend Wellington.”
“Scholarships?”
The principal nods. “Yes. We reserve twenty percent of our enrollment for scholarship students. Not all of our students come from wealthy backgrounds. We have various scholarships depending on grade level; both merit-based and need-based.”
This eases my guilt somewhat. A lot, actually. Briefly, before signing anything, Arthur and I step outside to talk privately.
“What do you think?” he asks once we’re alone.
“It’s amazing here,” I admit quietly. “It’s everything I could want for Miles. But I’m worried about how it looks—me campaigning for public school arts funding while sending our son to a private school. What if he gets singled out because of me?”
Arthur takes my hands in his. “I know it’s a difficult decision. We’re stuck between a rock and a hard place here. The truth will eventually come out, and yes, some people might be unhappy about it, especially with your recent focus on public schools.”
I sigh, staring at the ground. “I can handle the backlash. I just don’t want my son to have to experience it.”
“Whether we want him to or not, he’ll experience the pressures of our life eventually,” Arthur says, which makes me snap my gaze up. But his face is soft as he continues, “In our line of work, we can’t make everyone happy, Iris. Our son takes priority over everything else. Even if people are unhappy about it, we need to put Miles first.”
I chew on my lower lip for a moment, considering. He’s right, of course. We can’t protect Miles from everything forever; he’s the son of the Alpha President and a Willford, and he’s going to grow up in the public eye, where he’ll experience the good, the bad, and the evil at some point or another.
As much as that sucks, I do want to choose the best for Miles. Wellington is too good to pass up, and if I refused to enroll him simply because of my own fears, then I’d never forgive myself.
Finally, I nod. “Alright. I want to enroll him.”
Arthur’s face lights up. “You’re sure?”
“Yes,” I say, and despite everything, I mean it. I can’t help but smile up at him. “Miles is going to love it here.”
Arthur beams and pulls me close, brushing a kiss across my lips. “He certainly will,” he murmurs. When he pulls back, he takes my hand and leads me back toward the office. I feel a little giddy with excitement.
The principal already has the paperwork laid out for us when we enter her office once more. As I sign my name next to Arthur’s, I feel both elated and nervous, but mostly elated. Miles is going to be so happy when we tell him the news, and I’m already thinking about taking him out shopping for school supplies.
With that, Arthur and I head out. He takes me back home, where my car is parked. After a quick kiss goodbye, we go our separate ways—we’ve both got meetings. At least, I think I can call my impromptu visit to Veronica a “meeting”.
I check the address Caleb sent me for Veronica’s penthouse one last time before punching it into my GPS.
Twenty minutes later, I’m standing outside a sleek high-rise in the arts district. It’s exactly the sort of place I’d expect someone like Veronica to live; modern, luxurious, and tall enough to look over the city of Ordan, separated from the rabble by thirty storeys of steel and glass.
My stomach churns slightly as I look up at the building. I don’t know why Veronica makes me so nervous—she’s my cousin, for Goddess’ sake, and has been nothing but kind to me—but she does.
Still, I need her help for my next fundraiser. And especially now that Miles is enrolled at Wellington, I want to ensure the fundraiser is a success.
With that thought firmly in mind, I swallow my pride, straighten my shoulders, lift my chin, and press the buzzer for Veronica’s penthouse.
