Mia
Monday morning arrives like a sentencing.
I pull into the Riverside Academy parking lot with my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles ache.
The confrontation with Jack, Blake, and Noah plays on repeat in my mind.
Their faces when I admitted I'd been intimate with all three of them. The shock. The hurt. The anger.
I've been dreading today all weekend. When I’ll have to face them all again. Two days away with just my boys was not enough.
I cut the engine and sit in the silence, watching other teachers file into the building.
Jennifer from the math department walks past with her usual judgmental expression.
Patricia waves from across the lot, her smile warm and genuine.
Blake's truck is already here, parked in his usual spot near the gym.
Noah's sedan sits three spaces down. Jack's black sedan occupies the principal's reserved space closest to the entrance.
They're all here. All three of them. And I have to face them.
My reflection in the rearview mirror shows dark circles under my eyes and hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. I look exactly how I feel: exhausted, overwhelmed, and terrified.
"You can do this," I whisper to myself. "Just get through today."
I grab my bag and force myself out of the car. The walk to the building feels like a death march. Every step brings me closer to the inevitable awkwardness, the questions I don't have answers for, the choices I can't make.
The hallways are already filling with students. I keep my head down and move quickly toward my classroom, praying I don't run into any of them before I've had coffee and a moment to compose myself.
"Miss Wilson!"
Kyle Jorgenson stands beside my classroom door, holding a wrapped package. His gray eyes track my movements with unsettling intensity as I approach.
"Kyle." I keep my voice professional and distant. "You're here early."
"I wanted to catch you before class." He extends the package toward me. "I got you something."
Every instinct screams at me to refuse, but we're in a public hallway with students streaming past. I accept the package with reluctant hands.
"That's very thoughtful, but you really shouldn't be giving me gifts."
"Just open it." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "I think you'll like it."
I unwrap the package carefully, aware of his gaze boring into me. Inside is a leather-bound journal with my initials embossed on the cover in gold lettering. The leather is soft and expensive, the kind of gift that costs more than a student should be spending on a teacher.
"Kyle, this is too much. I can't accept this."
"I noticed you're always writing notes during class." He steps closer, invading my personal space. "I thought you'd appreciate something special ... a way to keep all your notes organized."
"I appreciate the thought, Kyle, but I really can't accept this. Thank you for the thought though." I pause to offer a kind smile. "The bell is about to ring. You'd better hurry before you're late for class."
I step into my classroom and close the door. Through the small window, I watch Kyle stand there for a long moment, his jaw tight and his hands clenched around the rejected journal. Finally, he turns and walks away.
I sink into my desk chair and press my hands against my face. As if my life wasn't complicated enough, now I have a student developing an inappropriate fixation.
The morning passes in a blur of lessons and forced smiles. I avoid the teachers' lounge during my planning period, eating lunch alone in my classroom while reviewing essays. Every time footsteps pass in the hallway, my body tenses, expecting Jack or Blake or Noah to walk through that door.
During fourth period, I notice Jessica Martinez sitting in the back row wearing an oversized hoodie despite the warm classroom.
She's been increasingly withdrawn over the past few weeks.
Dark circles shadow her eyes, and she rushes out of class the moment the bell rings, her hand pressed against her mouth.
I've seen those signs before. I lived those signs ten years ago.
Between second and third period, I spot Blake at the end of the hallway. Our eyes meet for a split second before I duck into the nearest bathroom, my heart hammering. When I emerge five minutes later, he's gone, but I swear I can still feel his gaze on my skin.
During my planning period, Noah's deep voice carries through my closed door as he talks to another teacher in the hallway. I freeze at my desk, barely breathing, until the conversation ends and his footsteps fade away.
At lunch, I risk a trip to the copy room and nearly collide with Jack coming around the corner.
He reaches out to steady me, his hand warm on my elbow.
"Mia," he says softly, concern etched in his features.
A group of students floods the hallway between us, and I use the distraction to slip away, leaving him standing there.
By the time the final bell rings, my nerves are frayed to breaking.
After the final bell, I catch Jessica before she can escape. "Can you stay for a minute? I'd like to talk to you."
Her eyes widen with panic. "I have to catch my bus."
"This won't take long. Please."
She hovers by the door, her backpack clutched against her chest like a shield. I move slowly, keeping my voice gentle and non-threatening.
"Jessica, I've noticed you haven't been yourself lately. Is everything okay?"
"I'm fine." The lie is transparent.
"You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever's going on, I'm here to listen without judgment."
Her lower lip trembles. For a moment, I think she's going to bolt. Then her composure cracks completely. Tears stream down her face as she sinks into the nearest desk.
"I don't know what to do," she whispers.
I pull up a chair beside her, close enough to offer comfort but far enough to give her space. "Take your time. I'm listening."
The story spills out between sobs. Her boyfriend, a senior, pressured her into sex. She's sixteen and pregnant. Her parents are strict Catholics who will disown her if they find out. Her boyfriend wants her to get an abortion, but she's terrified and confused. She doesn't know what she wants.
My heart breaks as I watch this girl living my nightmare. I was old enough to make my own choices when I found out about the twins, but the fear was still suffocating. Jessica is sixteen and drowning in fear and shame.
"First, you need to know this isn't your fault," I say firmly. "Whatever you decide about this pregnancy, it's your choice. Not your boyfriend's. Not your parents'. Yours."
"But what if I make the wrong choice?" Her voice cracks.
"There's no wrong choice. There's only the choice that's right for you.
" I pull out a notepad and write down several phone numbers.
"These are resources. Counselors who specialize in teen pregnancy.
Clinics that offer free medical care and support.
People who can help you figure out what you want without pressuring you. "
Jessica takes the paper with shaking hands. "Did you ever... I mean, have you ever known anyone who..."
She can't finish the question, but I understand what she's asking. I choose my words carefully, walking the line between offering support and maintaining professional boundaries.
"I've known people who faced similar situations. Some chose to continue their pregnancies. Some didn't. But the ones who did best were the ones who had support and made the choice that felt right for them, not for anyone else."
"Thank you, Miss Wilson." She wipes her eyes with her sleeve. "I was so scared to tell anyone."
"You're not alone, Jessica. Remember that."
After she leaves, I sit in the empty classroom feeling the weight of the conversation. Ten years ago, I was that terrified girl. The difference was that I had my mother's secret support and enough money to disappear. Jessica has neither.
I stare at the closed door, my chest tight. When I found out I was pregnant, I had options—terrible, heartbreaking options, but options nonetheless. My mother quietly helped me arrange my leaving.
Jessica doesn't have that luxury. She'll face judgment from her peers, possibly her family, maybe even the school administration.
The father of her baby might step up or disappear.
Her whole future hangs in the balance, and unlike me, she might not be able to afford to hide.
Not that running and hiding is the right thing to do.
I still don't know if I made the right choice.
Seeing my dad, though, makes me feel guilty.
I've lot all this time with him because I was scared of telling him about my pregnancy, and that I was pregnant by his best friend. Time that I'll never get back.
I gather my things slowly, my movements mechanical. The parallels are too close, too raw. I remember sitting in that doctor's office, hearing the confirmation, feeling my entire world tilt on its axis. I remember the shame, the fear, the overwhelming sense that my life as I knew it was over.
The drive home is a blur. I navigate the familiar streets on autopilot, my mind stuck in the past. When I pull into the driveway, I sit in the car for a long moment, gripping the steering wheel, trying to center myself.
Inside, the house is chaos in the best way. The boys are doing homework at the kitchen table, arguing about a math problem while the babysitter sits next to them, helping however she can. She looks up and smiles when she sees me, then quietly leaves.
I move to the table, grateful for the distraction.
For the next hour, I help with homework, set the table, and try to be present for my boys.
After dinner, I help them with their baths and bedtime routine and read them two chapters of their current favorite book, doing all the character voices they love.
When I finally kiss them goodnight and close their bedroom door, exhaustion crashes over me.
In my own room, I change into pajamas and sit on the edge of my bed. My phone rests on the nightstand, silent and accusatory. I should be relieved that they haven't contacted me. Instead, I feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.
At 9:47 p.m., my phone finally buzzes.
My heart lurches. I stare at the screen, Jack's name glowing in the darkness. My hand trembles as I unlock the phone and read the message.
The three of us have a proposal for you. Meet us at my house tomorrow night at eight.