On the First Day of School, the Teacher Called My Son by a Different Name, and He Acted Like It Was Completely Normal
Before the sun had even risen, I stood in the kitchen, carefully ironing my son Lucas’s crisp white shirt for his first day of first grade. I wanted everything to be perfect for him — his hair neatly combed, his backpack ready, his clothes spotless. This was a big day, one we’d been talking about all summer. I wished my husband, Travis, shared my excitement. But when I glanced toward the living room, I saw him sprawled on the couch, still asleep, the faint smell of alcohol in the air from the night before. Hungover and irritable, he brushed me off when I tried to wake him.
Lucas had been asking for weeks if Daddy would be there to see him off, and I had promised — with every ounce of sincerity I had — that Travis wouldn’t miss it. So when we arrived at the school, I kept looking toward the parking lot, hoping to spot him. He finally showed up, but late, disheveled, and with that same distracted air that told me he wasn’t really present.
I left for a short errand, but when I returned to the classroom, I stopped in the doorway. Lucas’s new teacher, Jenna, smiled warmly at him…
