“Get a sub,” he suggests, showing no sign of flexibility. “And consider that if someone targets you out there, your kids could get hurt. You may not care what happens to you, but I know you care what happens to them.”
My eyes sting, and I realize he’s right. I ask Kelly if she can cover my recess, and know she’ll also need to cover my bus duty. This sucks.
I lie and tell her I slipped on ice last week and the doctor recommended I stay off uneven ground. I hate lying, especially to her.
When I hand Kelly the whistle and clipboard, one of my students looks up at me with wide, worried eyes. Her name is Taniya, a sweet girl who always draws flowers in the margins of her homework.
“Why can’t you come outside anymore?” she asks. “Don’t you like recess?”
I kneel beside her so I can keep my voice soft. “Of course I like recess.”
“Then why can’t you watch us anymore?” another kid asks, twisting his hands nervously. “Did we do something wrong?”
Their faces pierce straight through me. They are too young for fear like that. Too young to think adults leave because they’ve misbehaved. I swallow hard, unable to answer, because the truth is too big and too dangerous for children to carry.
Kelly jumps in quickly.
“Miss Rogers is helping with something special inside,” she says lightly. “She’ll be back to recess when she can. Go on now.”
They run off reluctantly, glancing back at me like they’re checking whether I’m really okay.
My heart aches so badly I can barely stand.
This can’t continue. I might be able to pretend around adults, but I can’t pretend around my students. They’re too observant. They feel everything. They know when something is wrong even if they don’t have the words to describe it.
After school, I go straight to the principal’s office. She looks surprised to see me without an appointment but waves me in. She has always been fair, always levelheaded, always able to see the bigger picture. I sit down and fold my hands together tightly.
“I need to request a temporary leave,” I say, forcing the words out slowly. “Just a week. Maybe two. I’ve got some personal things going on, and I worry it’ll be disruptive for the kids.”
She studies me over the rim of her glasses.
“I’m certainly sorry to hear that,” she says, her tone almost stern. “Especially because this is your first year. If you can’t show that you’re able to stick it out with these kids, we may have to reconsider your placement here.”
My throat tightens.
“I can come back. Soon. I just need some time to handle things.”
“I know you want to believe that. But right now, it’s not about what you want. It’s about what the students need. It would be better for us to bring in a full-time substitute to cover your class for the rest of the year. The kids need consistency.”
That blows a hole straight through my chest because she’s right. She’s just trying to do what’s best for the kids. And even though it feels like losing a piece of myself, I nod.
“I’ll fill out the paperwork,” I whisper.
Before I leave, she places a hand on my arm. “Whatever you’re going through, I hope you get the support you need.”
The words hit harder than she knows.
When I return to the penthouse, everything inside me feels scraped raw. I slam my bag on the kitchen counter and start pacing again, faster this time. The luxury surrounding me feels suffocating, like it’s pressing in on me from all sides. The marble countertops, the tasteful artwork, the floor-to-ceiling windows. None of it comforts me.
Samuil emerges from his office and watches me silently for a moment. I can feel his eyes tracking me the way a predator watches its prey. Calm. Controlled. Focused.
“You’re burning holes in the floor,” he observes. “It’s unsettling.”
“Good,” I snap, refusing to stop. “Someone around here should be unsettled besides me.”
“It’s the only solution that keeps you safe.”
I whirl around, anger rising like a wave. “You should have asked me. You should have explained things. You should have given me one ounce of choice.”
