"You're here early," Janet from the front office observed, her eyebrows climbing toward her hairline.
"Couldn't sleep," I said. "Thought I'd get a head start on grading."
"At six-fifteen in the morning?"
"I'm very dedicated to spelling tests."
She gave me her familiar look. I knew she wouldn’t keep this between us and it’d be gossip around town.Who cares?I retreated to my classroom before she could ask follow-up questions.
At three-fifteen, when the final bell rang, and parents began flooding the pickup line, I stationed myself in the supply closet.
The supply closet. Like a rational adult.
"Ms. Reed?" Tommy's voice floated through the door. "Are you in there?"
"Just looking for... construction paper," I called back.
"There's construction paper on your desk."
"Different construction paper. Special construction paper."
"What's special about it?"
"It's... more constructed."
A pause. "Okay," he said, with the skepticism only a seven-year-old can muster.
I waited until I heard Cole's truck rumble away before emerging from my paper fortress. My phone showed three missed calls. I deleted the voicemails without listening.
Thursday evening, I was pretending to grade papers when headlights swept across my living room wall. My heart seized. I knew that engine sound, the specific rumble of Cole's truck.
Footsteps on the porch. Heavy, deliberate, unmistakable.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Emma?" His voice, muffled through the door, sent cracks splintering through my resolve. "I know you're home. Your lights are on."
I sat frozen on my couch, not breathing.
"Emma, please. Just tell me you're okay."
I pressed my hand over my mouth to keep any sound from escaping.
"I'm worried about you," he continued, softer now. "Sarah said you seemed off at school. She made you a card."
The image of Sarah bent over construction paper, tongue poking out in concentration, creating something for me, was almost enough to make me open the door.
Almost.
"Okay." His voice was resigned. "I'll try again tomorrow. But Emma... whatever's going on, we can figure it out. Together."
His footsteps retreated. The truck engine started, faded, and disappeared.
I sat in the dark for two hours, Sarah's imaginary card burning a hole in my chest.
Friday was worse. I called in sick, the first mental health day I'd taken since moving to Pine Ridge.
"You sound terrible," Principal Morrison said.
