The call came in around 11:45 a.m., just as Cuddy was finishing up a meeting. She recognized the high school’s number immediately and answered with a tight, instinctual knot forming in her chest. The principal’s voice was stiff, professional, too professional, and gave no real details beyond: “There’s been an incident involving your daughter. We’d like you and Mr. House to come in immediately.” Cuddy pressed for more, but the principal dodged specifics. That was enough to make her blood run cold.

She found House in diagnostics, lazily spinning in his chair with a smug look that dropped the moment she repeated what the principal said. He stood without a word, grabbed his cane, and followed her out. The drive to the school was nearly silent. House tapped a staccato rhythm on the passenger door with his fingers, his usual sarcasm nowhere to be found. Cuddy’s grip on the wheel tightened with every mile.

They were ushered into the principal’s office with barely a glance from the receptionist. The principal, a square-jawed man in his fifties with a laminated motivational poster behind him, stood up and gestured stiffly to the two chairs. Their daughter sat already inside, her expression unreadable. Cuddy’s eyes darted to her face, then to the principal.

“Okay, let’s start with the truth,” House said, his voice like a scalpel. “Because if this is about grades or skipping class, I’m going to need more coffee.”

The principal’s mouth twitched, but he pressed on. “There was... an incident in the girls’ locker room. During gym class. Your daughter... she got her period. One of the other girls noticed and... it escalated. Someone threw a tampon. Then others joined in. Pads. Tampons. Shouting. Laughter. The whole gym class got involved.”

Cuddy’s hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes flicked back to her daughter, whose gaze was fixed straight ahead. She looked almost numb. Cuddy’s throat tightened.

“Wait, ‘got involved’? You mean the entire class joined in on humiliating her?” Cuddy’s voice cracked into steel.

The principal nodded grimly. “Yes. It started with one girl, but it became... mob behavior. Our staff broke it up quickly. But the damage was done.”

House leaned forward, eyes sharp. “So we’re dealing with Lord of the Flies, menstrual edition. What’s the punishment? Suspension? Expulsion?”

The principal hesitated. “We’ve assigned a week’s detention to the entire class. It’s standard for mass conduct issues,”

“Detention?” Cuddy snapped. “Are you kidding me? They publicly humiliated her, assaulted her, with sanitary products like it was a joke! And they get detention?”

House let out a short laugh, bitter. “This place breeds sociopaths. You should put that on the school brochure.” He turned his head to look directly at his daughter, then back at the principal. “She bled. They mocked. And your response is a timeout.”

The silence stretched long after the principal stopped speaking. Cuddy’s jaw clenched as she sat back in her chair, trying to collect herself. She looked over at her daughter again, no tears, no outburst, just that same blank, unreadable expression that scared her more than anything. Finally, Cuddy stood. Her voice was calm, but it buzzed with tightly contained rage.

“We’re done here.”

House rose as well, his cane thudding once against the tile. He didn’t look at the principal again. “One week of detention. Good to know what a girl’s dignity is worth around here.” He motioned to his daughter. “Come on. You’re not sitting in this place one second longer than necessary.”

The air was thick, the moment open and waiting, for her to say something.