I never thought I would become the kind of woman people whisper about at a country club.
I’m 55. I’ve taught middle school for most of my adult life. English, mostly. Sometimes social studies when the district was short-handed. I make about $45,000 a year.
And I raised my son alone.
When he got his first big job, he took me to dinner.
His father left when Mark was eight. Not with some dramatic confession. Just a slow drift into another life where we did not fit. So it was me after that.
Me and parent-teacher conferences where I was both the teacher and the parent. Me and secondhand furniture. Me and late-night grading while Mark slept on the couch beside me because he said the scratch of my red pen helped him feel safe.