Dolores bit down hard on her tongue and dug her nails into her palms. I won’t think it, she repeated to herself like a mantra. I won’t even entertain the thought for a second. Instead, she locked eyes with the red-faced man who was bawling in her face in the middle of the school playground, and concentrated on her breathing. I’m strong enough for this. I am. He was at least a foot taller than she was, and he loomed over her like a predatory animal, but she stood firm, breathing in and out.

At last, it began to work. Mr Carter was still screaming, his face screwed up like an angry baby’s, yellow teeth gnashing, but her lip stopped trembling and her eyes quit prickling. It’s not his fault he’s acting like this. He’s just trying to protect his kid.

He was saying all kinds of terrible things to her. That his son deserved better than a piece of crap teacher like her. That he was going to ruin her. That he was going to find out where she lived and torch her house. Each word was like a stab in the heart, but she forced them to roll off her. Reminded herself that he couldn’t help it, and that she needed to treat him with kindness. Never mind that his son Trey was a violent bully who terrorized half the kids in his class; who’d recently knocked a girl’s front teeth out, and had kicked Dolores in the shins more times than she could remember. Never mind any of that. His dad was furious that she’d given him an after-school detention, which had meant that someone had to come pick him up, which was obviously a gigantic inconvenience to the family.

There was no point trying to reason with Mr Carter. She’d made that mistake once before, when she visited him at home and told him very gently that Trey seemed to be exhibiting some behavioral problems and he might benefit from seeing a child psychologist. One look at the broken-down two-room house where they lived told her a lot about Trey’s issues. The place was filthy, crammed with junk, every available surface strewn with empty beer cans, half-eaten food, and cigarette stubs. At least three huge dogs barked and snarled at her from behind the kitchen door. Mr Carter had completely freaked out, grabbed her by the throat and told her that there was no damn thing wrong with his son, and if she ever said so again, he’d cut her. She’d run away sobbing and didn’t sleep at all that night. But she wasn’t a quitter, and she came back the next day and faced the class again.

Trey wasn’t the only difficult kid in the class. Many of them showed signs of ADHD. Lots of them had aggressive parents, who’d swagger up to the school, threatening violence if they felt like their kids weren’t being respected. As a result, she was often stressed and upset, but she just wanted to help the kids, to give them the love they were so obviously missing at home.

“Are you hearing me?” Mr Carter bellowed.

“Of course I am –” she began. But before she could finish her sentence, his hand shot out and one of his dirty, stubby fingers jabbed her in the chest. She screamed and jerked backward.

“Mr, Carter! Don’t touch me, please!” she yelped.

He sneered at her. “I’m gunna do more than that. I’ve got half a mind to teach you a lesson,” he spat, taking a step toward her. Just then, the Head of Year appeared from behind her, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Is there a problem, Mr Carter?” he said, coming to a stop beside them.

“Yeah, there is. This teacher of yours has been bullying my kid. I don’t know why, but she’s got it in for him.”

Dolores gasped. “That is not true. I’ve been trying to help –”

The Head of Year held his hand out. “I’ll handle this, Dolores. Mr Carter, why don’t you come this way? Let’s talk in private.”

Dolores stood in the middle of the playground, watching them go, her mouth opening and closing in disbelief. What? I’ve been assaulted, and threatened. And the Head of Year is not backing me up at all. He’s treating me like I’m the criminal. And all I’ve wanted is to help these kids. She couldn’t hold back her tears any longer. As she broke into loud sobbing, she ran across the playground, all the way to the parking lot and the safety of her car.

It took twenty minutes before she was calm enough to drive, and another twenty to get home, but by the time she was parking her little car in her driveway, her hands were still trembling and her eyes were hot and swollen. She let herself into her house and shut the door behind her. The click of the deadlock turning meant home. Her sanctuary. The one place in the world where she felt safe and protected. Mr Tiddles, her black and white tomcat, greeted her, mewing for his dinner, and she scooped him up into her arms. But her legs couldn’t carry her weight any longer, and she collapsed in a heap on her welcome mat. As she started sobbing again into his soft fur, the words that she’d promised never to speak, much less think, tumbled from between her lips. She gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth, trying to force them back in, but it was too late; they hung in the air like a poisonous cloud. She’d promised herself not to fail the kids. To be there for them, even when they were mean and difficult and unlovable. God knew, she’d been a difficult child herself when her own world had fallen apart all those years ago. And she didn’t know if she’d done a good job, but she’d tried her best. She’d lost a boyfriend over it – her first and only boyfriend – who complained that she cared more about the kids than him, and got sick of the fact that she was always tense and emotional in the evenings. And she’d been losing sleep. A lot of sleep. Every night she lay awake, worrying about the violent parents and her unsympathetic co-workers, and every morning the bags under her eyes seemed to get bigger and darker.

This is too much. I can’t do it anymore. There, she’d said it. She held her breath, wondering if her world was going to come crashing down on her head. She was going to quit. The first job she’d ever quit in her life. She was going to leave those poor, neglected kids to whoever the hell else was capable of dealing with them. Because it wasn’t her. “I’ve failed them,” she muttered. Her throat tightened so much she couldn’t even cry. What right do I have to call myself a teacher, when I only want the easy jobs? The kids with nice, kind parents?

She absently stroked Mr Tiddles along the length of his back, but he wriggled out of her grasp and let out a loud mew. Feed me. She sighed and dragged herself onto her feet. Her legs were numb from sitting for so long, and she moved slowly. But as she reached the living room door, there was an almighty crash of breaking glass. Her head snapped back toward the front door. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The glass panel in the door shattered and fell onto the welcome mat in a thousand pieces. A fist appeared where the glass had been. Something soft and light gray landed on the mat. There was a muted whump sound. There was a bright orange flash. And then Dolores’ whole world went black.