I woke later than I wanted, so I gently nudged Ginger and told her to get ready for school. She seemed pleased with the fact that I spent the night with her and complied without comment. I rose from the bed and tiptoed to Dawson’s room. He still slept, and I fought the urge to touch him. I gathered my clothes and took a quick shower before searching for Ginger. She was dressing.

 

“Let’s hurry, baby. We’re running late. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s okay, Mommy. I’ll be ready in a minute.”

 

My insides warmed, melting all the negative energy from the previous night. “I suppose I could spare a minute to make some breakfast,” I offered, checking my watch.

 

Tummies full, we carefully snuck out and stopped by my house fifteen minutes later. I needed my bag and all the papers for today. As I fumbled in my purse for the house keys, one of my neighbors passed with her tiny dog. I nodded a silent good morning, but she turned away, nose in the air, like she wouldn’t acknowledge someone like me. Blood rushed to my face, and I wanted the ground to swallow me. All I could do was run into my living room, grab what I needed hurriedly, and get back to the car to drive off.

 

The humiliation of being so blatantly dismissed didn’t lessen on the way to work. It hadn’t even cooled as I stepped out of the car. I took Ginger’s hand and walked toward the school, my eyes fixed on the ground. I could barely reply to kids and colleagues greeting me.

 

I dropped Ginger at the classroom and went for coffee, hoping it would bring me some strength. But my luck failed as I ran into Miss White, the school nurse, who was also the principal’s unofficial right hand. “So, are teachers at this school performing babysitter duties now, too?” she asked in an uppity, chain-smoker rasp.

 

I blinked at the plump woman, struck by her over rudeness. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

 

She shrugged. “Oh, well, a person has to do what’s necessary in this tough economy, I guess. How much does Mr. Holt pay you?” Her tone insinuated something else entirely, and humiliation washed over me anew. She smirked. “Don’t worry, hon. You can tell me. I don’t need to steal your side job.”

 

Now, the blatant innuendo pissed me off. “What are you saying? Are you insinuating that I’m sleeping with Ginger’s father for money? Prostituting myself?”

 

She hissed sharply, not expecting me to voice the matter. “Oh, that’s preposterous. How could you even accuse…” she started, playing the victim.

 

I cut her off. “What I do in my free time is none of your business, and it’s especially not your place to imply something so degrading. From a woman of your position, I would’ve expected better,” I threw at her venomously. I left without any coffee.

 

During the morning’s first lessons, I could hardly concentrate on anything around me. I felt more and more drained, like something sucked my energy or a faulty wire shorted the circuit inside me. I fought through until recess, and I was startled as I sat at my desk by the door opening hastily, the principal sticking his head in. “Oh, I thought there was a teacher in here,” he said, shaking his head and leaving as fast as he came.

 

I stared at the closed door, gaping, my brain incapable of processing the incident. Then it hit me.

 

Tears burned my eyes, and I blinked to stop them as I stood, almost wobbling to the door. The frustration rising inside caused physical pain, and I I knew I couldn’t battle it long. I looked around to see if he was still watching me, but I focused too hard on not crying, causing my vision to blur. I almost bumped into some of the older kids as I ran the last few feet to the restrooms. I locked myself in a stall and let the onslaught begin, crying my sockets out.

 

The tears fell on the dirty floor, an unsuccessful attempt at washing away my mortification and hopelessness. My job, the pleasure I took in it, had been tarnished in the most painful way. With one remark, the principal had marginalized me as less than a teacher in his eyes. I fumbled with the tissue paper so harshly it turned to paper snow around my feet.

 

It took several minutes to settle down, and I looked around to clear my head and get presentable. I stepped out of the stall and moved to the sink. As I looked up and saw myself in the mirror, I cringed. My fair complexion was blotched with ugly red, my lips inflamed, eyes congested and swollen, and my ponytail had slipped low. I suddenly felt the need to wail, to break the glass and destroy the miserable image.

 

I would’ve given in if someone hadn’t entered the restroom. I hid my face, taking advantage of the person’s rush to a stall. I quickly cleared my face and retied my hair, they best I could manage under the circumstances. I cursed myself for not bringing my purse with me.

 

Before any other teachers could see me, I slipped out and back to class. I checked my watch and realized I was cutting it dangerously close to being late. I managed the rest of the day better, feeling somehow emptied after crying. I dropped Ginger off at her house and then turned back to mine.

 

My neighbor across the street pulled in her driveway after shopping. I liked the old lady, always quiet and rarely getting any visitors other than her dentist son. I often imagined her as the grandma of fairytales.

 

I smiled as I approached. “Hi, Ms. Randall! Let me take those bags for you.” I strode up her driveway.

 

She raised her eyebrows and shattered the fairytale. “No, thank you, Miss Bennett. They aren’t heavy. And I’m a few paces from the doorstep.”

 

Her tone wasn’t harsh, but I felt the bite as she emphasized my marital status, and I flushed, stepping back. “Okay, Ms. Randall. Have a nice day,” I mumbled, tears ready to flood over the dam again.

 

It stung. Everyone and everything turned against me. I hurried into my house, opening the gates for my tears as I slammed the door. The weight of my despair was too much, and I slid to the floor, helpless.