3: 3

"Mr. Henson, Lucia James has resigned."

The vice principal pushed my office door open.

"She turned in her report this morning. Says there's an emergency at home."

Every instinct told me it wasn't anywhere near that simple.

I called Lucia right away. No answer.

I drove straight to her building and got there just as she was walking out, dragging a suitcase behind her.

"Ms. James, why so sudden—"

She cut me off hard.

"I'm done."

"Is it because of Gwendolen?"

I held her eyes.

She bit down on her lip, looked at me once, said nothing, then turned and left.

There wasn't a single other female counselor left at the school.

That afternoon the principal came to me again.

"Mr. Henson, now that Lucia's gone, you're the only one who can clean up this mess—"

"Refer her out. Send her to the City Psychological Crisis Intervention Center."

I cut him off flat.

"I already asked! They're fully booked, three weeks minimum before they can take her!"

"Then we wait."

"And if something happens in those three weeks? Who takes the fall?"

"If something happens, there's an emergency protocol. But I don't see her. That's my line."

I wouldn't budge an inch.

The principal sighed and slammed the door on his way out.

On the third day, Gwendolen's aunt, Pauline Winfield, showed up.

A woman in her early forties, weathered face, rough skin, grime worked so deep into her nails it wouldn't wash out.

The moment she saw me she dropped, about to go down on her knees, and I caught her before she hit the floor.

"Mr. Henson, I'm begging you, please, save our Gwen!"

The woman cried until her voice broke.

"Ms. Winfield, the specialists in the city will have an opening any day now. They're more qualified for this—"

"She won't go!"

Pauline's eyes were rimmed red, and she smacked her own thigh in desperation.

"She says she only wants you."

"Mr. Henson, you're the expert, have a heart, please help her!"

I looked at her from a step away, and something went cold all the way through me.

"Ms. Winfield, why is she so set on me?"

Pauline shook her head, lost, tears spilling.

"That child keeps everything inside. She never tells me any of this—"

Her hands trembled as she dug a sheet of paper out of a patched pocket.

"Gwen pressed this on me this morning. Said she'd die before she let me not bring it to you—"

I took the paper and unfolded it.

The handwriting was extraordinarily neat, clean and delicate.

It read:

"Mr. Henson, I know you don't want to help me. That's all right. I don't blame you."

"If I'm going to keep living in this world, all I want is for you to be my light."

I folded the paper back up and handed it to Pauline without a flicker of expression.

"Tell her I'll follow up on the wait time at the city center."

Once I'd sent Pauline off, I locked myself in my office.

I ran that piece of paper through my mind again and again.

The paper had been folded too precisely.

Not a single correction in the handwriting.

She hadn't scribbled it off in a hurry.

A girl who smashes things and cuts herself in the counseling room, who stands on the rooftop ready to jump.

And this letter-writer who weighed out every word, who couldn't even fold the page without perfect care.

Were these two really the same person?

I thought of Lucia's face as she left.

I thought of those clean nails on the rooftop, painted the palest pink.

I thought of the way she looked toward the door with cold eyes on the footage, right before she shattered the glass.

Taken one at a time, every piece could be forced to fit under trauma response.

But put them together—

A vast, unknown dread was creeping over me, inch by inch.

But why did it have to be me?

I couldn't say what she was actually after.

4: 4

At least the slot at the city crisis center had finally come through.

The counselor's name was Fox, a woman, twelve years of experience.

I let out a long breath.

The next day, though, Ms. Fox called me.

"Mr. Henson, I'm so sorry. I've just taken on an extremely difficult emergency case."

"Gwendolen's sessions may have to be pushed back a week."

I hung up and assumed a colleague had simply run into something urgent.

Three days later, Ms. Fox called again.

"Mr. Henson... I really am sorry."

"Things on my end are far more complicated than I expected. I may have to postpone a bit longer..."

"How long?"

My voice dropped.

"Maybe... two weeks. Maybe a month."

Her tone was strange.

A week later, the principal came to tell me, his face dark as thunder.

Ms. Fox had sent a formal letter declining to take Gwendolen at all, citing an impossibly full workload.

The principal stood in front of my desk, said nothing, and just stared at me.

His meaning couldn't have been clearer.

That afternoon, everything spun out of control.

Gwendolen had an incident on the field, in front of the whole school.

Christian Dickerson shoved her down onto the track and ground his foot into the back of her hand.

A dozen or so students saw it. Some even pulled out their phones.

But Gwendolen didn't cry.

She just bit down hard on her split lip and made no sound at all.

Only after Christian swore at her and walked off did she slowly pick herself up.

I was standing behind the third-floor window of the administration building, watching the whole thing with no expression on my face.

She walked to the nurse's office alone and let the nurse treat the wound.

Then she went back to class as if nothing had happened.

It was too abnormal.

The next day, a video started tearing through the grade group chats and even the local forums.

It captured the whole thing, exactly how Christian had ground Gwendolen under his foot.

But the deadly part was the caption.

【Central High psych expert watches a helpless student get beaten right in front of him!】

【What do you call that? An accomplice!】

The video had been deliberately edited. The final frame froze and zoomed in on...

my face, standing at the administration building window, watching in cold detachment.

Public opinion exploded in an instant.

【This teacher is ice-cold!】

【I heard this girl tried to jump before, and he just stood there watching!】

【Dox him! Get him kicked out of education!】

It spread fast. Five thousand shares in three hours.

Soon someone dug up my name, my workplace, the school I'd graduated from.

Even the psychology credentials I'd been so proud of in my past life.

Five minutes later, my fiancée, Michelle Chavez, called.

Her voice was full of urgency and worry.

"Otis, are those videos online real?"

"How are you right now? Has anyone come to give you trouble?"

The moment I heard her voice, a tremor ran through me.

In my past life, this was the exact point where cyberbullying had driven her to jump.

"Don't look at any of it. It's all lies."

I gripped the phone so hard my knuckles went white, and my voice shook.

"Michelle, don't go anywhere for the next few days. Just stay home!"

"Okay! But Otis, tell me, why did you..."

"Did you really stand at that window and watch that girl get beaten, and not go down?"

There was a thread of confusion in her voice.

I said nothing.

How was I supposed to explain it to her?

I took a deep breath, soothed her with a few words, and hung up.

I went back over everything that had happened since I was reborn, from start to finish, every last detail.

Then all the fragments began piecing themselves together, one by one.

I finally understood why she only ever came to me.