Chapter 2: Public Judgment

I was officially reported:

All the parents in the class had joined forces, accusing me of being irresponsible and demanding that the school immediately strip me of my position as homeroom teacher—and my right to teach math at all.

When Principal Harris told me, it felt like someone had sucker-punched me in the gut.

Since taking over this class, I’d poured my heart and soul into it, running myself ragged, always putting the students first, practically giving them everything I had.

Now the parents said I was irresponsible.

"These parents are really making a scene," Principal Harris said. "They’re threatening to take it to the school board if we don’t give in."

I felt my face go tight and cold.

Principal Harris looked at me, all serious: "Mr. Grant, you need to reflect on yourself. If there really wasn’t a problem, why would all the parents unite to complain?"

Unbelievable.

How did this become my fault?

I wanted to argue, but the principal just waved me away like I was a bother.

"All right, just go back and wait for the school’s decision."

Leaving the office, the more I thought about it, the more depressed I got.

Finally, I couldn’t hold it in anymore and posted in the class Facebook group:

"Dear parents, since I became homeroom teacher, I’ve always put your kids first. I won’t claim I’ve given everything, but I’ve always worked hard. If you think I’ve missed something, please reach out to me directly. Unfounded misunderstandings and accusations really break an educator’s heart."

A few minutes later, my phone buzzed:

Mrs. Parker (Ethan’s mom): "Misunderstanding? How could we possibly be wrong? Homeroom teacher goes to the doctor AGAIN? 🤦‍♀️ Not okay. Who gave you that freedom? How can you focus on our kids like that? This is senior year—would you die if you didn’t go to the doctor?"

My jaw clenched so tight I thought I might crack a tooth. Part of me wanted to throw my phone across the kitchen, but I just stood there, numb, letting the flood of angry notifications wash over me. The parents’ words cut through me, cold and sharp as a February wind in upstate New York. I just stared at my phone, unable to believe this was happening.