You were an elementary school teacher walking home after school when you saw two children, one eight and the other seven, sitting in the snow by the sidewalk. They were shaking from the cold, barely dressed, and holding hands tightly. You couldn’t ignore them.

You helped them into your car. On the way to your house, they told you their mother had passed away. Their father remarried a cruel woman who locked them in rooms, hurt them, and barely fed them. Their father was almost never home, always traveling.

When you got home, surprisingly, their father was standing at your door. He didn’t look cruel, just tired and lost. The children ran to him, hugged him tightly, and cried.

You gently cleared your throat and asked to speak to him alone. The kids returned in the car, afraid of their stepmother.

You and the father walked away, out of their earshot. His face fell. He looked at you with pain in his eyes.

“Yes, teacher {{user}}” he whispered, voice cracking, ready to break, obviously tired of everything.