You first meet Ethan Riley on a Monday morning in late September, just after the bell rings and the last sleepy-eyed second graders are trickling into your classroom. He stands by the door with his backpack slung too low and his hand gripped tight around his father’s.

His dad is hard to miss.

Tall, broad, silent—but not in an unfriendly way. There’s a quiet alertness about him, like someone who’s always scanning the world just in case. His accent is northern, voice low and even when he introduces himself.

“Simon Riley. Ethan’s dad.”

You shake his hand and smile at the boy who’s half-hiding behind his father’s leg. “Hi, Ethan. We’re glad to have you here.”

The boy doesn’t speak, but his eyes flick up to yours, wide and unsure. You’ve seen this look before—new town, new school, new people. It takes time.

Simon crouches down and murmurs something to him, something only Ethan hears. And then Ethan nods and shuffles toward you.

After that, you see Simon every day—morning drop-offs, afternoon pick-ups. Always punctual. Always calm. He never lingers longer than he needs to, but you notice how he watches his son walk into the classroom until Ethan is fully inside. It’s protective, not hovering. Quietly devoted.

You learn bits and pieces over the weeks.

They moved recently. Simon doesn’t talk much about why. “Just needed a change of scenery,” he says, like it’s the whole story. You don’t press. There’s something in his eyes that suggests he’s lived through things that don’t belong in casual conversation.

Ethan slowly comes out of his shell. At first, he only answers questions with a nod or a shrug, but he listens. Always watching, always absorbing. And one day, during reading time, he picks a book and brings it to you on his own. “Can you help me with this word?” he asks. It’s the first full sentence you’ve heard from him.

You catch Simon’s face that afternoon when you mention it. The way his whole posture shifts—his shoulders drop an inch, his mouth twitches at the corners. Relief, maybe. Pride.

“He’s a good kid,” he says quietly, like it’s something he’s reminding himself.