43. Fiona
Fiona
"Wait, wait, wait," Emma said, nearly choking on her wine. "He did what?"
Marcy was trying to look casual, but the smile tugging at her lips gave her away. "He recorded the game. Said dinner was more important."
Fiona set down her mug of tea, blinking. "Travis voluntarily missed live sports?"
"Delayed it by a few hours so we could have a proper dinner together." Marcy's cheeks were pink, but whether from the wine or the memory, Fiona couldn't tell.
Emma tilted her head. "Wow, it took you guys the whole broadcast to have dinner?”
Marcy coughed on her drink and blushed.
"Oh my God," Emma burst out laughing. " Marcy !"
"What?" Marcy tried for innocent and failed spectacularly. "We had a very... productive evening."
Fiona felt a complicated knot form in her stomach. Happy for Marcy, yes. But also something else. Something that felt uncomfortably like envy.
"He's been different lately," Marcy continued, swirling her wine. "More attentive. Actually listens when I talk instead of just waiting for his turn to speak. I don't know what got into him, but I'm not complaining."
Emma raised her glass. "To whatever or whoever knocked some sense into Travis." She paused. “And Milo, come to think of it.”
They clinked glasses, but Fiona's mind was elsewhere.
"You okay, Fi?" Marcy asked, noticing her distraction.
"Yeah, just..." Fiona forced a smile. "I'm happy for you. Really. You deserve someone who prioritizes you."
"We all do," Emma said pointedly.
But as Marcy launched into another story about Travis's recent thoughtfulness—how he'd picked up her favorite coffee without being asked, how he'd actually scheduled his own dentist appointment—Fiona found herself thinking about Dean.
The way he used to take care of her, before everything went wrong.
And the way he still tried to take care of her, even now.
She could still feel his hands on her back, the way he'd held her on Emma's porch. The way her body had remembered being safe in his arms before her brain could remind her why that was dangerous.
Fiona shook her head, trying to clear the thought. That Dean was gone. Had maybe never existed at all.
But the wanting—God, the wanting was still there, stubborn and aching and impossible to ignore.
Even as every other piece of her life was finally falling into place.
Emma and Marcy were happy—safe and grounded in relationships that felt real.
Her students had everything they needed this year, thanks to classroom funding that had seemed impossible months ago.
Her bank account wasn’t in free-fall. The worst of the divorce paperwork was behind her.
She was rebuilding. Reclaiming.
But the heartbreak?
The heartbreak had lingered like smoke after a fire. Less visible now, maybe. But it still clung to everything.
Still caught her off guard in the quiet moments. Still curled around the edges of joy, reminding her of the person who’d once promised to be her soft place to land—and who, in the end, had helped her fall.
She sipped her tea and tried to smile, letting Marcy's voice and Emma's laughter fill the space.
The life she was creating was good.
It just wasn’t whole yet.
Fiona slumped into one of the plastic chairs in the faculty lounge, balancing her coffee and a stack of ungraded math tests. The monthly staff meeting was never her favorite part of the job—usually just budget cuts disguised as "resource reallocation" and new administrative hoops to jump through.
The school’s principal shuffled through the papers at the front of the room, looking unusually cheerful for a Monday afternoon meeting.
"Before we get to the usual business," she said, "I have some genuinely good news for once."
A ripple of surprised murmurs went through the room. Good news was rare enough to be noteworthy.
"Our website donations have tripled in the past month,” she said, her smile widening. "Tripled. Some of our programs are fully funded for the first time in years."
Fiona nearly dropped her coffee. She looked around at her colleagues' faces—the same shocked expression reflected on everyone.
"Are you serious?" asked one of the second grade teachers.
"What changed?" Fiona asked.
The principal shrugged. "Someone's been doing pro bono marketing work for the district. Really professional stuff. Whoever's helping us behind the scenes really knows what they're doing."
Someone had cared enough about their little district to donate their professional expertise. Someone had looked at their struggling programs and decided to help, asking for nothing in return.
Someone showing that they saw the work teachers did and thought it mattered. Someone showing up in a way that said: I see you. I respect what you do. I want to help, not just applaud from a distance.
It was everything Dean’s undercutting hadn’t been. No jokes at their expense. No pretending to admire her work while quietly mocking it to his friends. This was the opposite of that.
If only Dean could be the type of person to do something like this. If only he could see her worth.
"The timing couldn't be better," the principal continued. "With these new funds, we can finally replace those ancient computers in the lab, get new instruments for the music program, maybe even bring back the field trip budget."
Field trips. Fiona's heart squeezed. She would love to take her students to the natural history museum this year.
The same place where Dean had taken her on one of their first dates. When falling in love with him had been the easiest thing in the world.
She forced herself to stop thinking about Dean. Instead, she focused on the anonymous benefactor who was making all this possible.
"Whoever this person is," she said quietly, "they're changing kids' lives."
As the meeting moved on to less exciting topics, Fiona found herself staring out the window, thinking about invisible angels.
Someone out there understood what public education really needed.
Not just funding, but respect. Professional presentation.
The kind of support that made their work visible to people who had the power to help.
Someone had seen her world—her students, her classroom, her district—and decided it was worth fighting for.
She just wished she knew who to thank.
The principal interrupted her thoughts. “One last thing, can everyone bring in their teaching certifications by Friday? The state audit is coming up again.”
Fiona's stomach dropped slightly. Her certification was in the filing cabinet at the apartment. The apartment that was still technically Dean's, even though he'd offered it to her in the divorce. Even though she was moving back there on Saturday.
She’d get it after school today. Dean would be at the office. He wouldn’t even notice.