Or rather, I called them first.
I'd realized that I couldn't remember the last time I'd spoken directly with Sophia's teacher. Patricia usually attended parent conferences and forwarded summaries afterward. I knew Sophia was receiving good grades, and I assumed that meant everything was going well.
Now I wanted to understand how she behaved when she wasn't at home.
The school counselor agreed to meet with me.
We sat in a small office decorated with student artwork and shelves of books. Sophia's teacher joined us after class, carrying a folder of assignments and observations from the past year.
They seemed relieved that I'd requested the meeting.
That troubled me immediately.
The teacher began gently.
"Sophia is a bright child."
I nodded.
"She always has been."
"She's thoughtful, very observant, and usually does strong academic work."
I felt a brief wave of relief.
Then the teacher continued.
"But we've noticed that she seems anxious about making mistakes."
I looked up.
"How?"
The teacher opened her notebook.
"She apologizes even when she doesn't need to. If she answers a question incorrectly, she sometimes becomes visibly upset."
My chest tightened.
The counselor nodded.
"She's also been reluctant to participate in activities where she might not know the answer."
I thought about my daughter kneeling in the laundry room.
"I'm beginning to understand why."
The teacher looked toward me.
"We've tried to discuss those concerns with her caregivers."
I felt cold.
"With Patricia?"
She nodded.
"Mrs. Patricia attended the last two conferences."
I swallowed.
"What did she say?"
The counselor answered carefully.
"She described Sophia as a child who needed firmer expectations and said the family was already working on her confidence."
I stared at the table.
The teacher continued.
"We offered some school-based support, but there were follow-up questions about arranging meetings."
I looked toward her.
"Did anyone contact me?"
She hesitated.
"We sent messages to the parent contact address on file."
I took a breath.
"Which address?"
The counselor read it aloud.
It was our shared household email account.
The one Patricia managed.
I closed my eyes.
For years, I'd allowed Patricia to control the messages that entered our home.
School notices.
Appointment reminders.
Activity schedules.
And apparently concerns about my daughter's emotional well-being.
The counselor looked toward me.
"Would you like us to update the contact information?"
I nodded immediately.
"Yes."
We verified my direct phone number and personal email address.
Then I asked to receive future school communications without depending on anyone else to forward them.
The teacher nodded.
"Of course."
I looked toward the folder.