Cole was leaning against the lockers near the main entrance, arms crossed, waiting. He looked tired in a way that went beyond sleep deprivation. There were new lines around his eyes, and a tension in his expression that made my heart clench.
He saw me the moment I emerged. Our eyes met across the crowded hallway, and everything else faded to static.
"Emma," he said. Just my name. Just acknowledgment that I existed.
I couldn't speak. My throat had closed completely.
The classroom door behind me opened. Sarah emerged, backpack bouncing, and for one beautiful, terrible second, her face lit up when she saw me. That old instinct, that muscle memory of love, surfacing before she could stop it.
Then I watched the light die. I watched her expression shutter closed like a house boarding up for a storm. She looked down at her shoes, shoulders curling inward.
"Ready to go, sweetheart?" Cole's voice was gentle, but his eyes stayed on me.
"Yes."
He placed his hand on her shoulder and guided her toward the exit. They walked away together, Sarah small and defeated beside his tall, solid frame.
She didn't look back.
Something in my chest cracked open. A clean, sharp fracture I felt in my bones. A low, wounded sound involuntarily escaped me, and I pressed my hand over my mouth to contain it.
"Ms. Reed?" A student was staring at me. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," I choked out. "I'm fine."
I fled back into my classroom and closed the door, leaning against it, fighting for breath. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The motivational posters on the walls: "Reach for the Stars!" "Every Day is a New Adventure!" seemed to mock me.
The weekend was a tomb.
I cleaned things that were already clean. I graded papers that didn't exist. I talked to myself just to break the silence.
"This is what you wanted," I said to my reflection on Saturday night. "Safety. Solitude. No one to lose."
My reflection looked like hell. I looked away.
Sunday, I tried calling my father. His voicemail picked up. I hung up without leaving a message, then stared at the phone in my hand for twenty minutes, trying to remember why I'd pushed him away too.
Monday morning, Principal Wilkins intercepted me before I reached my classroom.
"Emma, do you have a moment? It's about Sarah Brennan."
Ice flooded my veins. "Is she okay?"
"She's not in trouble," Mrs. Wilkins said quickly, guiding me into her office. "But we've noticed some concerning changes. Over the past two weeks, she's become increasingly defiant. Talking back. Refusing to participate in activities she used to love."
"What kind of activities?"
"Reading circle. Art projects. She threw her crayons across the room on Thursday." Mrs. Wilkins paused. "She told another student that 'people always leave, so why bother making friends.'"
The words hit like a physical blow. I actually swayed.
"Cole came to see me on Friday," the principal continued. "He's very concerned about her emotional state. He mentioned there have been some changes at home?" She phrased it carefully, not prying but clearly curious.
"I..." The truth stuck in my throat. "I'll keep an eye on her."
"Please do. She was making such wonderful progress. It's hard to watch such a bright student spiraling."
I made it through the day on autopilot. Teaching felt like performing; the words came out, but there was no one behind them. I watched Sarah at her desk, head down, doodling angry spirals on the corner of her worksheet instead of doing her math.
