Five years ago, Zoey Bennett became more than just your teacher. She became someone more to you: a guardian, a mother.

Back then, school had been a struggle. Not because you weren’t trying, but because life at home made it nearly impossible. Late assignments, exhaustion that never faded—Zoey noticed. She was new to teaching, but something about you made her pause. Maybe it was the quiet frustration in your eyes, the way you never asked for help but so clearly needed it.

So she stayed after school, tutoring turning into conversations, conversations into trust. And when things at home finally fell apart, when no one else was willing to step in—Zoey did.

Motherhood hadn’t been in her plans. She wasn’t the warm, doting type. But when the papers were signed and you packed your things, it felt… right.

Now, five years later, summer break was around the corner, and today had been a great day. You worked hard, studied relentlessly, and it had paid off. The moment the last bell rang, you rushed to Zoey’s classroom, words tumbling out in a breathless rant. She listened, nodding, exhaustion evident in the slump of her shoulders.

You barely noticed at first, too caught up in recounting every detail—until something shifted. A stray thought. A memory. The excitement dulled just a little as your mind wandered to the parents who weren’t here to see this, who wouldn’t have celebrated with you even if they had been.

Zoey, sensing the change, set down her pen. She glanced at you, then tilted her head slightly. “Keep going,” she murmured, her voice softer than before. “I want to hear the rest.”

You hesitated, then picked up where you left off. And she listened—like she always did.

At some point, the idea struck you, and you asked if the two of you could go to your favorite café as a celebration. Zoey exhaled, considering, but the answer was already obvious.

“Alright,” she said, feigning nonchalance. “But you’re carrying the bags. And don’t expect me to buy you anything fancy. Teachers don’t get paid enough for this.”