Chapter 7: The Resignation

I was so disappointed, I couldn’t sleep at all that night.

The school moved fast. The very next day, they appointed a new homeroom teacher—just like the parents wanted:

Single, unmarried, honest, and living in the teachers’ apartments on campus—ready to work 24/7.

The class Facebook group was blowing up:

Mrs. Parker: "Parents, Ms. Monroe might be young, but I talked to her and she promised to take great care of our kids."

"Big thanks to Ethan’s mom for fighting so hard for our class! 👏"

"No need to thank me—we’re all just looking out for our kids."

"That’s right, we’re in this together!"

I didn’t want to stay in that group another second. After handing things over to the new teacher, I left the group immediately.

Then I turned in my resignation.

The department head was annoyed: "Mr. Grant, you’re not some rookie. Even if you weren’t at fault, is it really worth threatening the school with quitting? Every teacher has to put up with some crap. Heck, even if a parent slapped you in the hallway, you’d just have to take it."

I didn’t say another word. I finished my resignation and walked out.

Not a single student came to say goodbye.

Guess my two years of hard work just went straight down the drain.

During my time off, I had surgery, woke up to sunlight instead of an alarm, the smell of coffee drifting in from the kitchen. For once, my back didn’t feel like it was full of broken glass. I ate three meals a day, read, watched Netflix. All my little aches disappeared, and I even gained over ten pounds in less than a month.

A few days after I quit, it just happened to be the first big senior year exam.

Room 6 was still ranked first in the grade.

A few parents who hadn’t unfriended me posted on Facebook:

"See? Our kids’ success is all them—not thanks to anyone else."

"To certain self-important people: Nobody’s indispensable."

They might as well have tagged me.

I scrolled through their posts while making breakfast, shaking my head at the irony. Even the smell of frying bacon couldn’t drown out the bitterness in my chest. But at least I finally had time to stand at my own kitchen window, just watching the city wake up.