I sighed, then crouched down to Olei's eye level. God, I could finally get a good look at my child.
"Let me check if you're hurt." My voice came out barely above a whisper, like I was afraid of startling something fragile. I reached for his knee.
He stared at me, but didn't pull away. His pants were torn, the skin on his knee scraped raw and bleeding.
"Does it hurt?" I bit my lip, though I already knew the answer.
This kind of scrape would bother an adult, let alone a child this small.
He shook his head, turning his face away. "No. Doesn't hurt at all."
"Let me clean it up, okay? If it gets infected, that won't be good." I kept my voice gentle as I pulled a band-aid from my pocket.
Years of teaching elementary school had trained me to carry these things everywhere.
He glanced back at me. I saw tears shining in his eyes, but they didn't fall.
"Are you the new teacher?" His voice was soft, with a slight sniffle.
"Yes." I fought to steady my trembling hands as I smoothed the bandage over his knee. "My name is Anthea Carter. What's yours?"
"I'm Olei," he said quietly.
I froze. I hadn't expected the name Olei to stick. Vanessa had spent so much energy asserting her presence—I'd assumed she would never let my son keep the name I'd chosen.
Hearing Olei from his lips felt like an echo of fate. My eyes stung.
I couldn't help it. I pulled him into my arms.
"Okay, Olei. You know what? Every child has a mother." My voice cracked. "Your mother loves you very much. She just... she might have reasons she can't be with you right now."
The small body in my arms went rigid for a second. Then he suddenly threw his arms around my neck, his shoulders shaking violently.
"I know," he sobbed, his voice muffled against my neck. "Mama will come to me someday. I've been waiting."
Where he couldn't see, my own tears started to fall.
I don't know how I made it through that day's classes. Standing at the front of the room, when the slideshow flipped to the class roster, Isaw Olei's full name. Olei Thorne. Thorne. That man's last name. Just seeing it made it hard to breathe.
"Everyone," I cleared my throat. "I'm your art teacher. You can call me Anthea. In my classroom, there's one rule—I will not tolerate anyone bullying their classmates. If someone's being bullied, you need to tell me right away. Understood?"
The children answered in unison. "Understood!"
My gaze swept over the boys who'd been tormenting Olei that morning. They all looked down.
When the bell rang, I called Olei over.
"Olei, come to my office for a minute."
A few students shot curious looks our way, but Olei just quietly followed me out. The office was warm, the air thick with the smell of coffee and printer ink. I had Olei sit in my desk chair. His little feet didn't reach the floor. God, it was unbearably cute.
"Drink this." I handed him a cup of warm milk with a smile, having stirred in a spoonful of honey.
"Thank you." He held the cup with both hands, taking a careful sip.
"Hungry?" I pulled a chocolate bar from my drawer. "Do you like chocolate? Any allergies?"
Olei's eyes lit up. That tense, well-behaved little face finally showed a hint of childlike innocence.
