Page 77 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

Laurel

I lie flat on my back, staring at the ceiling like it owes me answers. The fan spins lazily overhead. I should get up, eat something. Get on with my life. But the thought of moving feels pointless. I have nowhere to be. I’m jobless.

This morning my alarm went off like always. Muscle memory kicked in before my brain caught up. I rolled out of bed, brushed my teeth, started the coffee, stepped into the shower.

Hot water hit my skin, and for maybe thirty seconds I was just… normal. Then it crashed in: I don’t have a job anymore. I stood there frozen until the water turned cold. I shut it off, wrapped myself in a towel, and crawled straight back into bed.

Is this what being jobless feels like? This hollow, drifting thing? I’ve never known it. Not really. I started working at ten, babysitting, dog-walking, cleaning houses on weekends. Anything my age allowed, and a few things it didn’t. Because the alternative was worse.

My stepfather would stand in the doorway, beer bottle dangling from his fingers, and sneer, “You gonna leech off me forever, girl? Contribute or get out.”

So I contributed. Every dollar I earned went straight to groceries, utilities, whatever kept the lights on when he couldn’t hold a job longer than a month. My mom… she tried, in her way. But mostly she just existed. Absent even when she was in the room.

By sixteen, I was the only reliable paycheck in the house. I kept going, retail, tutoring, waitressing, then finally college on loans and scholarships and night shifts. Teaching was the first thing that felt like mine. Like purpose. Like I’d built something no one could take away.

Until they did.

I roll onto my side, eyes drifting to the nightstand. My teaching certificate sits there framed. One Google search on “why Laurel Harper was terminated” and every future principal will see the same words: inappropriate relationship with a parent. Conflict of interest. Unprofessional conduct. No one will care about the truth. They’ll see the headline version and move on to the next applicant.

Even though I told Leonid yesterday that I’d pull myself together and find a new job, the sadness hits me all over again at the realization that I may never be a teacher again.

Tears prick hot behind my eyes. I blink hard, and they spill, sliding sideways into my hair.

I knew this could happen. From the first time Leonid responded to that text, I knew. I told myself the risk was worth it. I told myself we’d be careful. But deep down I was terrified that one day I’d wake up and everything I’d bled for would be gone. Maybe I jinxed it just by thinking it. Maybe the universe heard me worrying and decided to make it real.

And yet… I don’t regret him. Not for a second.

Leonid is… everything. When he walks into a room, my heart does this stupid, beautiful leap, like it’s finally found its rhythm after years of stumbling. He makes me feel seen. Safe. Wanted in a way that’s fierce and gentle at the same time.

He’s the flame I didn’t know my life was missing until he set it alight. The way he looks at me, like I’m the only thing in the world, undoes me every time.

But God, it still hurts.

I loved that job. Loved those kids. Loved watching their faces light up when they finally understood something. And they took it away because I came onto him? Really? As if Leonid Volkov is some helpless teenager I seduced in the supply closet. As if a man like him could be coerced into anything. The double standard burns. Always the woman’s fault. Always the woman who’s the temptress, the problem, the one who has to pay.

I huff out a bitter laugh that turns into a sob halfway through. Roll my eyes at the ceiling like it’s personally offended me.

My phone pings on the nightstand.

I reach for it automatically. Tasha again, probably. She’s been sending motivational quotes nonstop since I told her what happened: You are enough. You’ve got this. The best is yet to come. Sweet, but right now they just make me feel worse.

I unlock the screen. It’s not Tasha. It’s an email from Principal Ellis. I tap the email open, half-expecting some final nail in the coffin.

Subject: Reinstatement and Formal Apology

My heart stops. I sit up so fast the room tilts. Fingers trembling, I open it and skim the body, heart pounding.

Dear Ms. Harper,

After a thorough review of new information provided to the administration, we are pleased to inform you that your termination has been rescinded effective immediately.

We acknowledge that it was wrong to assume you initiated any inappropriate conduct with Mr. Volkov, and we regret the distress and disruption this caused you.

Effective immediately, you are welcome to return to your position. In recognition of the error and as a gesture of goodwill, you will receive full back pay for the period of your absence, along with a ten percent (10%) salary increase moving forward.

We value your contributions and hope you will accept this apology and reinstatement. Please let us know how you wish to proceed, and do not hesitate to reach out with any questions or concerns.

Sincerely,