I thought staying on good terms with my ex-husband was best for our son. But his new girlfriend repeatedly found ways to humiliate me, and Nigel seemed content to let it happen. At the school fall fair, her latest insult led to something neither of us expected.

When my ten-year-old son stepped up to the microphone at his school’s fall fair, I assumed he would show everyone the pumpkin cupcakes we’d made together.

Then I noticed my ex-husband’s girlfriend clutching his arm.

“Make him stop!” Annabelle whispered.

Nigel looked confused.

“He’s just showing pictures.”

But Annabelle seemed to realize what those pictures would expose before I did.

And from her expression, she was terrified of what Dustin might reveal next.

A week earlier, Dustin had returned from his father’s house with an unexpected question.

“Mom, do you think your clothes are ugly?”

I was cutting fabric for his pumpkin costume.

“That’s an interesting question. What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“Annabelle says you dress like you’ve given up.”

I set down my scissors.

Annabelle was Nigel’s new girlfriend. They’d been together several months, and lately, Dustin had been unusually withdrawn after visiting them.

“What else has she said?”

Dustin picked at a loose thread on his sleeve.

“She said you have terrible taste in clothes. Last weekend, she asked Dad how he stayed married to you for so long.”

“What did your dad say?”

“He laughed.”

I stared at the orange fabric covering our table.

At 35, I had a full-time job, a growing son, and most household responsibilities on my shoulders. Impressing Annabelle wasn’t a priority.

But hearing Dustin repeat her insults concerned me.

I pulled up a chair beside him.

“Listen, sweetheart. You shouldn’t have to hear people making fun of either parent.”

“Then why does Dad let her?”

I couldn’t explain Nigel’s behavior, but I could confront him.

After Dustin went to bed, I called Nigel.

“Annabelle needs to stop insulting me around Dustin.”

He sighed.

“Becca, she has a strange sense of humor.”

“Dustin isn’t finding it funny. He shouldn’t dread having dinner with you.”

After a pause, he replied.

“I’ll speak to her. Promise.”

I wanted to believe him.

Three days later, Annabelle approached me during school pickup. She’d brought sneakers Dustin had forgotten at his father’s house.

“Nigel mentioned you’re helping with the fall fair.”

“Dustin’s class has a pumpkin booth.”

“I thought I could buy decorations and help with the display.”

I hesitated, but Dustin brightened.

“Really? We could all help!”

Seeing his excitement, I agreed.

“All right. But the children’s decorations need to stay.”

“Of course, Becca.”

Annabelle glanced at my cardigan.

“I’ll make sure everything looks presentable.”

Despite her remark, I gave her a chance.

At the volunteer meeting, Annabelle arrived with photos of expensive decorations she’d ordered.

“You’re organizing the booth?” another parent asked.

“Pretty much,” Annabelle replied.

“We’re sharing the work,” I said. “I’m baking the cupcakes and helping with setup.”

She laughed.

“Of course. You’re handling the food, Becca. That’s very on-brand.”

Then she indicated the children’s handmade paper pumpkins.

“Those won’t match my decorations. We should leave them off.”

“No. The children made those.”

“They look cheap.”

“They’re made from construction paper, Annabelle. They’re staying.”

She dropped the subject.

On Saturday, Dustin and I baked pumpkin cupcakes.

He insisted on putting exactly seven chocolate chips on each.

“Four would be enough,” I told him.

“Seven looks better.”

I handed him the chocolate chips.

“Then you’d better get started.”

While baking, Dustin photographed our progress using my phone.

His teacher had invited students to prepare presentations about the fair and had agreed to review his completed slideshow.

“Please leave out the picture where I dropped the frosting,” I said.

He grinned.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Later, we tried on the pumpkin costumes we’d made.

Mine was round, bright orange, and slightly crooked at one shoulder.

“We look ridiculous,” I said.

“That’s why they’re so good!”

Remembering Annabelle’s criticism, I hesitated.

“Are you sure you want me wearing this?”

“Mom, we made them together.”

“Then we’re wearing them together.”

He hugged me.

“It’s my favorite thing we’ve made.”

I kissed his forehead.

Then his expression turned serious.

“Mom, why don’t you tell Annabelle to stop?”

“I’ve spoken to your dad about it, honey.”

“But she keeps doing it.”

I sat beside him.

“You’re right. I need to handle it differently.”

“Will Dad get mad?”

“That’s something your dad and I will deal with. You don’t have to fix it.”

Dustin nodded, though he still looked uncertain.

We arrived early Sunday morning for the fair.

As Dustin arranged the cupcakes, I noticed the children’s paper pumpkins had disappeared.

I discovered them in a box beneath the table.

Annabelle was adjusting her orange banner.

“Why did you put these away?”

“They made everything look cluttered.”

“The children made them, Annabelle. They’re staying.”

I hung the pumpkins along the table.

A teacher approached.

“Oh, wonderful! The children were asking where those went.”

Annabelle moved aside.

A few minutes later, I overheard her telling someone she’d organized almost the entire display.

“Annabelle bought the extras,” I corrected. “The children made these, and we all helped set up.”

She shot me an irritated glance.

Nigel arrived around noon.

“Dad!” Dustin called.

Nigel hugged him.

“Look at you! That’s quite a costume.”

“Mom made us matching ones!”

Nigel turned toward me, but Annabelle spoke first, looking me up and down.

“With your figure, that pumpkin costume suits you perfectly, Becca!”

Nigel burst out laughing, pulled her close, and kissed her.

Several parents looked over.

Dustin remained serious.

“That’s mean, Annabelle,” he said.

Nigel frowned.

“Watch your tone, Dustin.”

I stepped forward.

“He’s allowed to tell you when something hurts him.”

Annabelle rolled her eyes.

“It was a joke.”

“Then explain what was funny about it.”

She opened her mouth but couldn’t answer.

Nigel intervened.

“Becca, can we not do this here?”

“You brought it here, Nigel. Dustin and I were enjoying ourselves.”

I turned toward my son.

“Come on. Let’s see how many cupcakes we’ve sold.”

He followed, no longer smiling.

Shortly before the awards ceremony, I saw Annabelle talking to the principal near the stage.

“I wanted everything to look special,” she said. “So I took care of practically the whole booth.”

I approached them.

“Actually, the class made most of the decorations. Annabelle bought the extras, and Dustin and I baked the cupcakes.”

Her smile vanished.

“Do you have to correct everything I say, Becca? Give it a rest.”

“When you’re taking credit for other people’s work, yes.”

Nigel joined her.

“You’re embarrassing Annabelle.”

“You laughed when she embarrassed me. Why is it suddenly a problem?”

Before he could respond, the principal called everyone toward the stage.

Dustin’s teacher announced the short student presentations about their booths.

My son climbed onto the stage and took the microphone.

“I want to show everyone something.”

He gave his flash drive to the teacher operating the computer.

The first photograph showed us shopping for ingredients.

Next came pictures of our cupcakes, handmade decorations, and the booth before Annabelle’s purchases were added.

Parents smiled as the slideshow continued.

Annabelle stared at the screen, then grabbed Nigel’s arm.

“Make him stop!”

Nigel frowned.

“He’s just showing pictures.”

“But I’m not in any of them, Nigel!” she said through gritted teeth.

Another picture appeared, showing me hanging the children’s decorations while Annabelle’s purchased items remained unopened.

Dustin spoke into the microphone.

“Annabelle bought some really nice things for our booth.”

He paused.

“But my mom helped make almost everything else. She baked with me, made our costumes, and helped the class.”

A photo of me sewing his costume appeared.

“She says it doesn’t matter who gets the credit, but I think people should get thanked when they work hard.”

Emotion tightened my throat.

Dustin looked toward me.

“Mom also tells me not to make fun of people, even if somebody else thinks it’s funny.”

He lowered the microphone slightly.

“I wanted everyone to see how much she helped.”

Applause filled the room.

I joined in, wiping tears from my cheeks.

I was proud of Dustin, yet troubled that my ten-year-old son had spent the fair worrying about how adults treated me.

He shouldn’t have had to carry that responsibility.

Dustin hurried over.

“Did you like it, Mom?”

“I loved it, sweetheart.”

He hugged me, but Annabelle interrupted.

“You knew he was planning that!”

“I knew about the slideshow. I hadn’t seen the finished version.”

Nigel stepped beside her.

“Was this your idea, Becca? Did you put him up to it?”

Dustin pulled away.

“Mom didn’t tell me what to say.”

Nigel frowned. “You shouldn’t have to choose sides, Dustin.”

“He’s not choosing sides,” I said. “And we’re not having this conversation in front of him.”

I turned to my son.

“Could you ask your teacher to keep the flash drive? I’ll meet you at the booth.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“Of course not. Go on, sweetheart.”

His teacher waved him over. Once he’d reached her, I faced Nigel.

“Come outside. We need to talk.”

We stepped through the side doors, with Annabelle following.

Nigel spoke first.

“Everyone knew Dustin was talking about Annabelle.”

“He thanked her for what she did, Nigel. He didn’t insult her.”

Annabelle crossed her arms.

“He made me look like a terrible person!”

“You insulted me in front of him, Annabelle. Nigel laughed. What did you expect him to think?”

Nigel rubbed his forehead.

“I don’t want Dustin caught between us.”

“Neither do I. That’s why I called you last week. He’s been coming home upset.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

“Then listen to him, Nigel. Don’t tell him how he should feel.”

I faced Annabelle.

“And don’t blame Dustin for your embarrassment. He showed people what we made. If you’re going to be in his life, you need to respect me.”

Nigel nodded.

“I’ll handle it.”

“I hope you do. Dustin deserves better.”

I returned inside to find my son.

We still had game tickets, and I refused to let the argument ruin the rest of his fair.

Dustin won a stuffed fox at ring toss and laughed when I missed every throw.

As we headed toward the exit, he asked, “Are you upset about my slideshow?”

“No, sweetheart. I loved it.”

“Then why did you and Dad go outside?”

“We had something to discuss. I didn’t want you listening to another argument.”

“Did I make Annabelle angry?”

“Her feelings aren’t your responsibility, Dustin.”

“I just wanted people to know you did the work.”

I stopped beside him.

“I’m glad you’re proud of what we made. But you don’t have to defend me. That’s my job.”

He nodded.

“Can we take a picture in our costumes?”

We asked his teacher to photograph us, with Dustin proudly holding his stuffed fox.

That evening, Nigel called after Dustin was asleep.

“Annabelle cried on the way home.”

“Dustin was upset too.”

“She thinks you encouraged him.”

“His teacher approved the slideshow. Dustin chose the pictures and prepared his speech.”

Nigel sighed.

“Could you ask him to apologize? It might help everyone move forward.”

“No. Dustin isn’t responsible for making Annabelle feel better about her own behavior.”

“She thinks he was taking sides.”

“He thanked me for our work, Nigel. That’s not choosing sides. And I won’t make him apologize for it.”

Nigel fell silent.

“He asked whether he’d made her angry. He’s worried about something that shouldn’t be his problem.”

“I shouldn’t have laughed at that costume joke.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.”

“I didn’t realize he was this upset.”

“He tried telling you.”

Nigel exhaled.

“You’re right. I’ll apologize to him.”

“Then listen to him. And make sure Annabelle’s comments stop.”

“I’ll speak to her again.”

“Please make sure something changes.”

I ended the call, hoping he’d finally follow through.

The following weekend, Nigel arrived without Annabelle.

“Annabelle isn’t coming?” I asked.

“Not today. I want some time alone with Dustin.”

“And the comments?”

“I spoke to her. She still thinks we’re making too much of it.”

“What do you think?”

Nigel hesitated.

“I keep remembering Dustin’s face when I laughed. I should’ve listened sooner.”

I glanced toward the house.

“Then tell him that.”

“I will.”

When Dustin came outside, Nigel crouched beside him.

“Before we go, there’s something I owe you.”

Dustin glanced at me.

“I laughed when Annabelle made those jokes about Mom,” Nigel said. “You told me they bothered you, and I didn’t listen. I’m sorry.”

Dustin studied him.

“Are you going to laugh next time?”

“No. And if something upsets you at my house, I want you to tell me.”

“Even if it’s about Annabelle?”

“Yes, son.”

Dustin took his father’s hand.

It was a start, though Nigel still needed to prove his words through his actions.

Later that evening, Dustin called.

“Dad took me for pizza. We talked about the fair.”

“How did that go?”

“He said he was proud of my pictures. He asked if I wanted to show him the whole slideshow.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah. He liked the one of us wearing the costumes.”

I smiled.

“So did I.”

“Mom, can we print our picture from the fair?”

“Of course. Where should we put it?”

“On the refrigerator.”

The next afternoon, Dustin held the photograph while I searched for a magnet.

Our pumpkin costumes looked crooked, my hair stuck out beneath the pumpkin stem, and Dustin held his stuffed fox.

“Do you still think your costume looks ridiculous?” he asked.

“Completely. I might even wear it again.”

He laughed.

“Can we make something together for the winter fair?”

“I’d love that.”

“Even if people laugh?”

I took the photograph from him.

“Dustin, we wore those costumes because we loved making them. Nobody gets to spoil that for us.”

He smiled and secured the photo to the refrigerator.

Then he leaned against me.

“I’m glad we matched, Mom.”

I wrapped an arm around him.

“So am I, sweetheart.”

For weeks, Dustin had felt responsible for defending me.

Now he was excited about our next project.

And whenever I looked at that photograph, I no longer saw the woman Annabelle had mocked.

I saw a mother whose son had always been proud to stand beside her.