"Feel better?"
"You look sad today." She said it matter-of-factly, the way only children can. "My mom says chocolate helps when you're sad. You should get some chocolate."
"That's excellent advice, Sarah. Thank you."
The last to leave was little Maria, who wrapped her arms around my waist in a fierce hug that nearly undid all my careful composure.
"I love you, Ms. Cross," she whispered.
"I love you too, sweetheart." My voice cracked. "Now go catch your bus."
Then they were gone, and the silence that descended was absolute. The room felt like a shell, bright bulletin boards and alphabet posters suddenly meaningless without the small bodies that gave them purpose. I began tidying up, erasing the whiteboard and straightening chairs. A goodbye to each familiar routine.
Eleanor Cross had fought like a lioness to keep me. She'd stood before the school board, voice shaking with rare public emotion. "Cut my salary. Pay her half. But for God's sake, don't let her go." Her pleas fell on the deaf ears of men who saw budget lines, not children.
Five years she'd been my mentor, my champion, the closest thing to a mother I'd had since mine died. And even she couldn't save me from this. Not even with her position as the Principal.
I was stacking leveled readers when Ms. Alvarez appeared in the doorway, her face pinched with sympathy.
"Claire? Principal Cross needs to see you in her office."
A spark of irrational hope flared. Has something changed? A last-minute donation? "Did she say why?"
"She has a... visitor. For you, apparently."
That was strange. I followed her through the quiet halls, my shoes echoing on tiles that smelled of industrial cleaner and childhood. The building felt hollow without its usual chaos.
I stepped into the administration waiting area and froze.
Sitting in one of the small plastic chairs meant for visiting parents was Millie Sterling, swinging her legs, clutching her stuffed rabbit. And standing beside her, his back to me, was a man in a flawlessly tailored charcoal suit.
He was holding a tablet. Scrolling through something. I thought it was emails: rich people things, stock prices, world domination plans. Then I caught a glimpse of the screen.
It was a picture of me.
It looked like it was taken the day he came to my apartment to get his daughter, slightly grainy, my hair in a simpler style. He was studying it like a puzzle he couldn't solve.
His eyes darted up. For a moment, there was only silence.
"Daddy, do you like the picture I took on your phone?" Millie's voice rang out, bright and completely oblivious to the tension she'd just created. "Isn't Miss Claire so pretty?"
Before I could process that sentence, the little girl spotted me and launched herself off the chair.
"Ms. Claire! I missed you!"
She slammed into my legs with the force of a small, affectionate missile. Nathaniel stood frozen, his gaze darting between my stunned face and his daughter's joyful one. An awkward smile tugged at his lips, the expression of a man caught doing something he couldn't quite explain.
I watched him glance down at the tablet screen one more time. Then he slipped it into his jacket pocket.
Without deleting the picture.
My cheeks burned. The audacity of this man. Showing up at my workplace, ambushing me in the one place I still had some shred of professional dignity. I gently untangled myself from Millie's grip.
"Hey, sweetie. Give me one minute, okay?"
Then I turned my full attention to her father, keeping my voice low and sharp. "What are you doing here?"
"You didn't show up," he said simply. As if that explained everything.
