Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
LILY
I spend the rest of the weekend hiding in my apartment.
Cassidy stays with me, sleeping on my couch, and waking me every few hours like the doctor ordered.
The stitches in my lip pull with every movement, a constant reminder of what happened.
The bruising spreads across my cheek in shades of purple and yellow, impossible to hide no matter how much concealer I try to layer on.
Mom calls three times on Saturday afternoon, and six times on Sunday. I stare at her name on the screen and let every call go to voicemail. Cassidy fields the calls when Mom tries her phone instead, telling her I wasn’t feeling well, that I needed rest, and that I’d call her in a couple of days.
The police call sometime on Saturday, asking if I want to press charges. I tell them I don’t. There’s no point. I know Dan didn’t mean to hit me, and even though I’m angry and hurt at him, I’m not going to ruin his life over a mistake he made.
By the time Monday morning comes around, the throbbing in my face isn’t quite as bad.
The stitches are still visible, but I’ve figured out the best shade of concealer to hide the worst of the bruising.
The marks on my throat that Ronan left there on Friday night are nothing compared to the mess on my face.
A high-necked blouse covers them easily.
I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, trying to see what everyone else will see. A teacher who got caught up in violence? A woman who made poor choices? Someone whose judgment should be questioned? Or a victim of being in the wrong place at the wrong time?
The drive to school takes no time at all, and Principal Martinez’s voice cuts through the morning quiet the second I walk through the door.
“Ms. Gladwin. My office, please.”
I follow her down the hallway, past empty classrooms and bulletin boards. Two teachers pause their conversation to watch me pass. I keep my eyes forward, spine straight, and try to ignore how dry my mouth has become.
She closes the door to her office behind us and gestures for me to sit. Her expression is unreadable as she takes her place behind her desk. I don’t miss the way her eyes linger on my face, taking inventory of the damage.
“I’ve received some concerning phone calls this morning.” She rests her hands on top of her desk. “Mrs. Walsh has been particularly vocal. She heard quite a detailed account of an incident happening outside The Flamingo on Friday night between you and someone she claims is a known criminal.”
Heat crawls up my neck, burning into my face.
Kate and Amy must have made sure everyone heard their version of events.
That’s how news travels in this town. It starts with whispers in the coffee shop, or grocery store, or bar, then spreads through social circles, growing more dramatic with each retelling until it reaches people like Beverly Walsh, who knows exactly how to use the information.
“And of course, there’s also the incident outside Wilson’s on Saturday morning.” Her voice remains calm and professional. “Some parents are understandably concerned.”
“I didn’t—”
She holds up her hand. “Before we continue, I should mention that Mrs. Walsh has already called an emergency meeting of the school board.”
Of course she has. Beverly Walsh has been on the school board longer than I’ve been alive. She treats it as her own personal kingdom, wielding influence like a weapon.
My fingers curl into fists in my lap, nails digging into my palms. I force my voice to stay steady. “What happened on Saturday wasn’t my fault. I was trying to stop a fight.”
“The problem isn’t what happened, Lily.” Her voice softens a little. “It’s the perception. You teach kindergarten. Their parents are protective and when they start hearing rumors …”
“What rumors?” I want her to say it out loud.
She shifts some papers on her desk. “According to Mrs. Walsh, you were seen in what she called a compromising position with Ronan Oliver on Friday night. She was quite … detailed in her description.”
My face burns hotter. The memory of Ronan’s body against mine, his hands, his mouth, the alley wall cold against my back … I push it away, but not before heat floods through me again. Shame mixing with anger, mixing with the ghost of desire I don’t want to think about.
“My private life has nothing—”
“Your private life becomes the school’s concern when it happens in public.” She sighs. “And when it involves someone with Ronan’s history.”
“That was seven years ago! He was eighteen and homeless.”
“I know.” She looks tired, older than she did last week. “But you know how this town works. Mrs. Walsh is already talking about ‘moral fitness evaluations.’”
The room is closing in, the air turning thick. “Because I was seen with someone they decided to hate years ago?”
“Because you’re responsible for young children, and parents are questioning your judgment.
” She opens a drawer and pulls out some papers.
“The incident outside Wilson’s only made it worse.
Sarah Murphy’s mother is on the PTA. She’s been quite vocal about not wanting her daughter in a classroom with someone who … ” She gestures vaguely at my face.
“Someone who what?” My voice breaks despite my efforts to control it. “Got hit trying to stop violence? Or someone who dared to care about the wrong person?”
“Lily.” She leans forward. “I’m trying to help you here. Take some time off. Let things calm down, and give the bruises time to fade.”
“You want me to stay home?” My eyes are burning. “Because it looks bad that I got hurt?”
“Because right now, Mrs. Walsh is making you a target.” She slides the papers across her desk. “Take the week. Paid leave. Give everyone time to find new gossip. It won’t take long for something else to catch their attention. And give yourself time to heal.”
Through her office window, I can see parents dropping off their kids.
“And if I don’t take the leave?”
“Then I can’t protect you from the board.” Her voice remains gentle but firm. “You know how Beverly Walsh operates when she decides the world isn’t right. And she has three other board members who follow her lead without question.”
I take the papers, hands shaking slightly. The words on the sheet blur together, official language about temporary leave and professional conduct. My throat is so tight I can barely swallow.
“I’ll need your lesson plans for the substitute.” She hesitates. “And Lily? Be careful. The board meeting is on Wednesday. They want to discuss this. Don’t supply them with further ammunition.”
I walk out of the office in a daze, just as Natasha O’Reilly hurries past, tugging her daughter along without looking at me. She used to stop and chat every morning, updating me on her daughter’s progress. Now she won’t meet my eyes.
A teacher catches my arm as I pass her classroom.
“I heard what happened.” Her voice drops to a whisper, eyes darting around to make sure no one is listening. “The story is everywhere. Kate and Amy were telling everyone at the Jittery Squirrel about Friday night.” She glances around. “And then Saturday—”
My stomach churns. I pull away. “I have to go.”
Two more teachers watch from their classroom doorways. I catch fragments of whispered conversations as I pass
“… can’t believe she’d …”
“… with someone like that …”
“… such poor judgment …”
I keep my head high, shoulders back, even though my face throbs, and my stitches pull, and I want to disappear into the floor.
My classroom is still empty when I step inside. The ocean-themed display I spent hours creating suddenly seems meaningless. I take this week’s lesson plan out of my bag and place it on the desk, take one last look around, and walk out.
The drive home passes in a daze. My eyes watch the road, but I’m not really present. When I finally make it inside my apartment and close the door behind me, I release the grip I’ve kept on my emotions.
Sliding down the wall, I land hard on the floor. Everything hits me at once. The humiliation, the anger, the unfairness of it all. The exhaustion from holding myself together through the weekend, this morning, that walk down the hallway with everyone watching.
Tears come hot and fast, and I don’t try to stop them.
My phone rings, Mom’s name lighting up the screen. I connect the call.
“Oh, honey.” She doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Why didn’t you tell me what happened? Why make Cassidy lie for you?”
“Mom …” The tears come harder. “School sent me home. They’re making me take leave until the board has a meeting.”
“I’m coming over.” There’s a rustling sound. She’s already grabbing her keys. “I’ll bring lunch.”
“Mom, you don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do. I should have been there over the weekend, too.” Her tone is firm. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
She’s right. The thought of sitting here by myself, replaying everything, makes my head ache. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Twenty minutes. And Lily. None of this is your fault.”
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, but the tears keep coming as memories flood my mind.
Beverly Walsh at every school function when I was growing up, watching everything and judging everyone.
Her voice at town meetings, church socials, at every gathering where opinions were formed.
She was one of the loudest condemning Ronan back then, spreading stories about how he was dangerous, a bad influence, someone the town was better off without.
And now she’s doing it again. Using her influence, and her network of supporters to shape the narrative. To decide what’s right, proper and acceptable for a teacher in her precious school.
I should call Cassidy and tell her what’s going on. She’ll be furious on my behalf, just like she was when we were in high school and people judged me for caring about Ronan.
Not much in this town changes. But thankfully, that includes having people in my corner. Even when the rest of the town seems determined to find fault with me.