Page 35 of Where We Stay

On the walk home, my thoughts turn toward tomorrow.

My first day at Hartwell Elementary.

I’m so unbelievably excited that the nerves haven’t had the chance to settle in yet. First grade has always been one of my favorite ages to teach. They’re old enough to have opinions about everything but still young enough to believe their teacher knows the answer to every question.

I taught a first-grade class in New York for almost a year.

They were loud, chaotic and constantly sticky, and I adored every one of them.

Leaving them was one of the hardest parts.

Everything happened so quickly that I never got to give them a proper goodbye. No final story. No last round of hugs. No chance to explain why Miss Collins suddenly wasn’t coming back.

The thought still sits heavily in my chest.

I wonder whether they ask about me.

Whether they remember me at all.

My fingers brush against the lighthouse magnet inside my pocket as I walk.

Tomorrow is another beginning.

A new classroom.

New names to learn. New little personalities. New children trusting me to make them feel safe.

I couldn’t save the life I had in New York.

But maybe I can build something better here.

* * *

By the time I make it home, shower and start putting something together for a late lunch, there’s a knock at the front door.

The sound sends a jolt through my entire body.

For a split second, I’m back in my New York apartment.

My hand tightens around the edge of the kitchen counter as my breathing turns shallow. Every muscle in my body prepares to run, even though there’s nowhere to go.

This is not New York.

I drag in a slow breath.

He is not here.

Another.

The door is locked. You are safe.

It takes a few seconds for the room to come back into focus.

Then I remember.

My car.

I cross the living room and glance through the front window before opening the door.