I smile, typing back quickly.
Me: Good! Just grading some papers before I leave. How was yours?
Mason: Slow. Miss you.
Me: Miss you too. Still good to meet for dinner?
Mason: yup. Hope to be there by 5, Love you.
Me: Love you too.
I set my phone down and go back to the stack, but my mind drifts.
Mason and I have been together not quite two years yet, but we talked about the future early on—marriage, kids, where we wanted to be in ten years—and it still feels surreal sometimes that I found him.
A few years ago, I was convinced I’d be single forever. That the wholemeet someone, fall in love, build a lifething just wasn’t in the cards for me.
And now? Now I’m planning a wedding. Thinking about what our kids might look like. Wondering if they’ll have his blue eyes or mine.
I pick up another paper. This one’s from Haven.
I want to b a teacher like Miss Keller becuz shes nice and helps me when I don’t understand.
My throat tightens.
I read it again, slower this time, letting the words settle. That’s it. That’s why I do this.
Not for the lesson plans or the staff meetings or the late nights grading papers, but for moments like this.
I blink back tears, grab my red pen, and write at the top:
Emma, you’re going to be an amazing teacher someday. I’m so proud of you.
I set the paper aside and take a slow breath. This is what I was made for. This classroom. These kids. This job. And someday, my own kids too.
A knock on the doorframe makes me jump.
I look up to see Sierra leaning against it, arms crossed, grinning like she just caught me doing something suspicious.
“You’re still here?” she asks.
“So are you,” I counter, laughing.
She steps inside, dropping her bag on one of the student desks. “Fair point. I was just making copies for tomorrow and saw your light on.”
“Yeah, I’m almost done. Just finishing up some grading.”
She walks closer, glancing at the stack. “Let me guess—creative writing?”
“Yup. ‘What I Want to Be When I Grow Up.’”
“Oh, those are the best.” She picks one up, skims it, and laughs. “UPS driver who also plays for the NFL. That’s a dream.”
I laugh too. “Right?”
Sierra sets the paper down and leans against my desk. “So…wedding’s in like two months. How are you feeling?”
“Good,” I say automatically. Then I pause. “Nervous. Excited. Terrified. All of it.”
