She looked tired now. Not cruel, but tired. “The parents of our students want the very best for their children. We cannot risk keeping someone related to a child molester. It is simply intolerable.”
He took a breath, forcing himself to steady. “I have done nothing wrong.”
Nester’s eyes flicked down. “It’s about optics,” she said finally.
“Optics,” he repeated again, as if tasting something rotten.
“The school board election is next month. There’s been a lot of… attention.” She lowered her voice. “If your past was discovered by the wrong people, you would become the focal point.”
“You’re firing me because some parents would be uncomfortable about something my uncle did. An uncle, by the way, that I am not in contact with,” he said. “Do you think I would do something like him?”
“No one is saying that.”
“You don’t have to say it.”
She flinched slightly.
“The official reason,” she continued, retreating to formality, “is a restructuring of staff to better align with community values.”
“Community values,” he repeated, almost smiling at the absurd vagueness of it.
Her voice softened. “You will be an excellent teacher, Fernando.”
“Then fight for me.” The plea slipped out before he could stop it.
Her gaze held his, and for a moment, he saw the truth there. Fear. The fear of angry board members and loud parents. Of losing her own position.
“It’s bigger than me,” she said quietly. The clock on the wall ticked, loud and indifferent. “You’ll receive severance through the end of the semester,” she said. “We’ll provide a neutral reference.”
He straightened, the initial shock cooling into something steadier. “Fine, but I’m leaving now.”
“I understand. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” she added, almost in a whisper.
“Oh, fuck your sorry.” He gave her a hard look. “This isn’t right, and you know it.”
Then he opened the door and stepped into the hallway, where lockers slammed, and laughter sounded, and the world went on exactly the same as it had that morning.
He didn’t know for sure who had called the board and told them about Fernando’s uncle, but he could guess. It didn’t matter anyway. He had done nothing wrong. He could fight the termination, but honestly, he didn’t have the energy to do it.
He was completely numb as he quickly grabbed his belongings from his classroom and went to his car. A few other teachers tried to ask him what was happening, but he ignored them. He was so tired.
Back at home, he sat on the edge of his couch, the lamp in the corner casting a soft golden circle over the living room. The house felt too quiet without the television on, too aware of its own stillness.
“Come here, buddy,” he murmured.
At the sound of his voice, Beans lifted his head from the rug. His tail thumped once, then twice, against the floor before he stood and padded over, nails clicking softly on the hardwood. He rested his chin on Fernando’s knee first, looking up with those warm, patient eyes, as if asking to hear everything. Fernando smiled despite himself.
“You don’t even know what kind of day I had,” he said, scratching behind Beans’s ear.
Beans huffed gently and leaned harder into his hand.
Fernando shifted back against the couch cushions and patted the space beside him. Beans climbed up in an awkward, enthusiastic tangle of paws and fur, circling once before settling half across Fernando’s lap. He was far too big to be a lap dog, but neither of them seemed to mind.
He wrapped one arm around the dog, fingers sinking into thick, soft fur. Beans let out a deep, contented sigh that vibrated through his chest.
They stayed like that for a long moment, no words, just the steady rhythm of breathing. Fernando rested his cheek against the top of Beans’s head, inhaling that familiar, clean-dog smell.
“You’re the best part of this place,” he said quietly. “Well, you and Walker.”
