The declaration hangs in the air. Blake stops pacing, his expression thoughtful.
"What if we hire a private investigator?" Blake suggests. "Dig into Marcus's background. Find something we can use against him."
"That could work," I say slowly. "But we need to move fast. Once Marcus files official paperwork, we're on the defensive."
Jack pulls out his phone. "I know someone. Former police detective who does private investigation work now. I'll call him tonight."
We spend the next hour strategizing, discussing angles and approaches. Mia sits between Jack and me on the couch, her leg pressed against mine, her hand in Jack's. Blake settles on the arm of the couch beside her, his presence protective.
"We're running out of time," I say finally. "Marcus could file tomorrow for all we know."
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, expecting a work email or maybe a text from a colleague.
Instead, it's from Vanessa.
The message makes my stomach drop:Noah, I'm so sorry. I know I said I had everything under control, but I got evicted. I have nowhere to go. Please, can you take the kids again? Just until I figure something out.
Below the text is a photo that has me gritting my teeth.
Maya, Ethan, and Sophie are asleep in the back seat of Vanessa's car, cramped together with blankets and pillows. Through the window, I can see the fluorescent lights of a grocery store parking lot.
They're living in her car.
49
MIA
I sit across from the school board with my hands folded in my lap to hide their trembling. The conference room feels smaller than it did during my suspension hearing, the walls pressing in as Kyle's parents settle into chairs beside their son. Mrs. Jorgenson's designer suit probably costs more than my monthly rent, and Mr. Jorgenson's Rolex catches the fluorescent light as he adjusts his cuffs.
Kyle slouches between them with that same satisfied smirk I've come to dread. His gray eyes track my movements like he's cataloging every micro-expression for future use.
Margaret, the board president, clears her throat. "Thank you all for coming. We're here to address the allegations against Kyle Jorgenson regarding the vandalism of Miss Wilson's classroom and his pattern of inappropriate behavior toward her."
"This is ridiculous," Mr. Jorgenson says immediately. "Our son has been the victim of systematic harassment by Miss Wilson and her colleagues. We have documentation proving it."
I force myself to breathe steadily. Jack, Blake, and Noah aren't here because their presence would complicate things, but I feel their support like a physical presence. We prepared for this. I'm ready.
"Actually," I say, my voice stronger than I feel, "I have evidence of Kyle's obsessive behavior that predates any interaction with my colleagues."
I pull out the leather-bound journal Kyle gave me, setting it on the table with deliberate care. "This was a gift from Kyle. Expensive, personalized with my initials. When I tried to return it, he refused to take it back."
Mrs. Jorgenson's perfectly made-up face tightens slightly.
I continue, pulling out printed screenshots. "These are excerpts from creative writing assignments Kyle submitted in my class. They're clearly fantasies about me, becoming progressively more detailed and possessive over time."
The board members lean forward, reading the pages I've laid out. I watch their expressions shift from professional neutrality to concern.
"This one," I point to a particularly disturbing piece, "describes a scenario where a teacher realizes she belongs to her student and leaves her family to be with him. Kyle used my physical description, my car, even details about my apartment that he shouldn't have known."
Kyle's smirk falters slightly. His mother's hand finds his arm, gripping tight.
"Miss Wilson," Margaret says carefully, "these are concerning, but they could be interpreted as creative fiction."
"They could be," I agree. "Except Kyle has a history of this behavior at previous schools."
I pull out the letter from Jennifer Matthews, his former teacher at Westbrook Preparatory. "This is from a teacher who filed a restraining order against Kyle two years ago. She's documented his pattern of fixation, escalation, and eventual vandalism when his advances were rejected."
The room goes silent. Mr. Jorgenson's face drains of color.