Walking into my classroom makes my heart start to pound. It's as if this isn't mine anymore. Logan took the place I thought of as my sanctuary and turned it into a place that I don't love.
So now I have to figure out a way to love this place again.
The only way for me to do that is for me to teach in it. Teaching is the thing that saved me during my divorce. When my ex-husband and I couldn't stand to be around one another I'd retreat to this room, and I'd spend hours in peace.
This room has been my sanctuary, and Logan ruined that.
Now, I'm going to take it back.
I take a deep breath and step inside, flipping on the lights. Everything looks the same as it did before. The same posters on the walls, the same desks in their rows, the same whiteboard with remnants of equations I'd written before everything happened. But it feels different. Wrong somehow.
I walk to my desk and set down my bag, my hands shaking slightly. Then I force myself to look at the spot where Logan came through the door. He's not standing there right now. But I can see it anyway. I can see him holding the gun, the way his eyes were on me.
Counting to ten, I breathe deeply. In through my nose, out through my mouth. It's the technique my therapist taught me years ago, and it works now just like it did then. By the time I get to ten, my hands have stopped shaking.
I can do this. I have to do this.
The first students start trickling in about ten minutes before the bell. They're quieter than usual, watching me with uncertain eyes like they're not sure how to act. I recognize the look. It's the same one people gave me after my divorce, that mixture of pity and curiosity.
"Good morning," I say, forcing brightness into my voice. "I hope you all kept up with the substitute's assignments."
A few of them smile, and the tension in the room eases slightly. Then Keegan Thompson walks in, and his face lights up when he sees me.
"Ms. Allison!" He crosses the room quickly. "You're back!"
"I am." I smile at him, genuinely happy to see his familiar face. Keegan works at Saint's Outlaws garage, which means he knows Dime, knows exactly what happened, and probably knows more than he should about a lot of things. Especially since his dad is a cop, too.
"I'm really glad," he says quietly, so only I can hear. "We were all worried about you."
"I'm okay. Better than okay, actually."
He nods, understanding passing between us. Then he takes his seat, and the rest of the class filters in. By the time the bell rings, every desk is full, and they're all looking at me expectantly.
"Alright," I say, standing in front of my desk. "I know you all probably have questions about what happened, and I'm not going to pretend like it didn't happen. But I'm also not going to dwell on it. What I am going to do is teach you literature, just like I always have. So let's get started."
I launch into the lesson I'd prepared, discussing the symbolism in the novel they've been reading. At first, the students are hesitant. But as the class progresses, they relax. They start raising their hands, debating themes, making connections I hadn't even considered. Which is why I love this class.
It's why I teach. Not for the curriculum or the standards, but for these moments when students light up with understanding.
The period flies by, and when the bell rings, several students come up to my desk.
"I missed you, Ms. Allison," a girl named Sarah says.
"We all did," another student adds. "The substitute was nice, but she wasn't you."
My throat gets tight. "Thank you. That means more than you know."
They file out, and the next class comes in. Then the next. Each period is the same. Students telling me they're glad I'm back, that they missed me, that the classroom wasn't the same without me. By lunch, I'm exhausted but also feeling more like myself than I have in days.
I'm eating a sandwich at my desk when Principal Harrison stops by.
"How's it going?" she asks, leaning against the doorframe.
"Good. Really good, actually." I set down my sandwich. "The kids have been amazing."
"They love you. We all do." She smiles. "I told you this place isn't the same without you."
We chat for a few more minutes, and then she leaves me to finish my lunch. I'm scrolling through my phone, looking at a text from Dime asking how my day is going, when I hear footsteps in the hallway.
