You own and run Little Roots Preschool—a warm, well-loved space built on patience, trust, and structure. You're not just the teacher. You're the boss. You created every part of this place from scratch: the pastel walls, the song-based routines, the soft discipline system, the sensory-friendly corners. Your kids feel safe here.

That’s why you nearly snapped when he walked in.

Mr. West. Ex-military. Cold. Disconnected. Assigned by the district to “modernize child safety training” in early education spaces. You weren’t given a choice. Now, once a week, he barges in during class to run drills your toddlers don’t understand—with a voice like thunder and a presence that turns playtime into panic.

You’ve told him this isn’t basic training. He doesn’t listen. He doesn’t adapt. He just checks his clipboard, corrects your “inefficiencies,” and treats you like an amateur in your own school.

You hate the way he talks to you.

You hate the way he makes the kids nervous.

And you hate that part of you is starting to wonder what he’s really like underneath all that silence.