I could feel the start of a spiral. My mind reached for the memory that explained it, one of the many I never liked to think about.
I took a deep breath and let myself go there because I needed to understand why my chest felt tight again. I needed to remember where this started.
And just like that, I was back in the staff lounge.
The veteran teachers were gathered at their usual table. They fell quiet the second I walked in. It wasn’t a natural pause. It was pointed, and it settled on my skin before I even reached the counter.
Mrs. Rourke glanced at my dress and gave me a tight smile. “Cute polka dots,” she said. Her eyes dropped to the hem, then flicked to the others. A quiet cue for them to enjoy the moment with her.
Mrs. Lin let out a short snort. She tried to hide it behind her coffee mug. She nudged the teacher beside her with a quick elbow, and they shared a look that said everything they thought about me. I had seen that look from the first week.
I set my papers down and told myself not to grip them. “You all set for the faculty meeting on Thursday?” I asked. My voice stayed even. That was the one thing I could control.
They answered with clipped patience.
“It’s on the calendar,” one of them said without looking up.
“It has been on the calendar,” another added.
A heavy silence followed.
I tried one more time. I opened the top folder to check my lesson plan for the theme challenge project, the one that had finally gotten my students excited. They asked about it every morning. They chose prompts on their own; some had taken journals home to continue writing.
“I’m finishing the theme challenges for next week,” I said. “The kids have been really engaged with it.”
Mrs. Lin tapped her phone. “That kind of thing is fine for warmups,” she said. Her tone was flat. Not interested. “It’s not essential instruction.”
Another teacher nodded. “You should talk to us before changing routines. Parents get confused.”
My fingers curled around the folder.
“It works for them,” I said. “They look forward to it.”
They shared another glance. A simple, practiced movement that told me I had been weighed and found lacking.
I kept my smile steady. I kept standing there, like I still belonged in the room. I kept hoping if I held my ground, the tension would ease. It never did.
One of them let out a small laugh, not even bothering to hide it.
That was the moment I chose the door.
And the worst part was not this single interaction. It was knowing this was only one of dozens just like it. Days of quiet exclusion. Weeks of forced politeness. Months of being treated as an outsider no matter how hard I tried.
A slow pattern that wore me down until I could not recognize myself.
The memory loosened its grip, and the kitchen settled around me again. Cristian had gone still. His focus rested on me with a level of attention that made my throat tighten for a different reason.
“Are you all right?” His voice was low, careful. He watched me like he was ready to step closer if I gave him the slightest signal.
I straightened. “I’m fine. Just hungry.”
It came out too fast. He noticed, but he let it go. The concern in his eyes stayed anyway, steady and patient.
My stomach growled, reminding me that I never actually ate the cereal I made this morning. I forced a breath and reached for something safe. “Okay, breakfast. Maybe carbs will fix the whole cursed-bond thing.”
“That’s not how that works.”
I rolled my eyes and opened the fridge. Eggs. Butter. Vanilla. Perfect. “I’m making French toast.”
