Emma had always dreamed of becoming a teacher. The moment she saw her first-grade teacher in the small village where she grew up—a place where teachers still held unshakable respect—she made up her mind: she, too, would be a teacher.
Miss Margaret Thompson, the teacher, always wore elegant suits. Her hair was impeccably styled, and she never raised her voice. Instead, if something went wrong, especially if a student was at fault, she would offer a quiet reprimand that left everyone feeling uneasy.
In the village, Miss Margaret was deeply respected. She was always allowed to skip the line at the store. The village council chairman would tip his hat and bow his head when greeting her on the street. And Miss Margaret’s home! It was modest—just two rooms and a kitchen—but it was filled with books. Flowers didn’t sit on the windowsill; they bloomed on a tall metal stand, creating a lush green corner by the window. The room was always bright, with greenery that felt like summer. Her yard was unlike any other in the village: no potatoes, but apple and cherry trees, and flowers of all kinds—lining the path from the gate to the porch, arranged in round, square, and triangular beds.
Emma often looked at her parents’ yard, packed with potatoes, cucumbers, onions, dill, and parsley, and wished she could magically transform it into one like Miss Margaret’s. But she knew it wouldn’t happen. As the eldest, Emma had to look after her younger siblings. They went to kindergarten, but she was the one who took them there and picked them up, summer and winter. Emma only had time to herself after school until five o’clock, when she had to fetch the kids. Her brothers and sisters were unruly, and no matter how many times she tried to discipline them with Miss Margaret’s soft tone, it never worked. More than anything, Emma wanted to leave for the city after school to study to become a teacher. She realized early on that to achieve this, she needed perfect grades. From the moment she finished first grade with top marks, she maintained that record, graduating as the only student in her class with a perfect transcript.
Emma would never forget her graduation—not just because she was leaving school behind, but because she saw Miss Margaret in a situation few could have handled. During a break between dances, some of Emma’s classmates, feeling the freedom of graduation, did something they’d never dared before: nearly all the boys went out to the schoolyard and lit cigarettes. Some smoked with ease, while others coughed and grimaced but kept up the act. After finishing, they returned to the school, but someone didn’t fully extinguish their cigarette. The dry June grass caught fire. Shouts and screams erupted when the flames were spotted. Miss Margaret was the first to rush to the fire. She tore the beautiful scarf from her neck—a scarf the girls had noticed the moment they saw her—and began beating the flames with it. At the same time, she instructed the boys to form a chain and pass buckets of water. The water came from a well, as the school and village still lacked plumbing. When a full bucket reached her, Miss Margaret approached the fire and poured. Someone thought to grab two more buckets from the janitor’s closet, speeding up the relay. No one could recall how long it took to douse the flames, but the fire was extinguished.
No one in the village knew a fire had just broken out on school grounds. Emma often recalls how her entire class sat on the school steps afterward, silent for a long time. Her classmates braced for Miss Margaret to start questioning who was responsible. But she didn’t. She looked at them and said:
— Kids! Thank goodness no one was hurt! But remember, fire is an uncontrollable force that spares no one. Now, let’s go dance!
They parted ways at dawn. But Emma couldn’t sleep. She changed, grabbed a shovel and hoe, and headed to the schoolyard. About ten of her classmates were already there, each with shovels and hoes. No one had planned it—they just came. Together, they turned over the scorched grass, making it hard to tell there had been a fire. A little later, Miss Margaret arrived. Seeing their work, she couldn’t hold back her tears for the first time:
— Thank you, kids! Any teacher in this school would be jealous of me…
Emma remembers when Miss Margaret was made principal. Emma helped her in every way she could. In her final years of school, she visited Miss Margaret’s home, where they drank tea in the kitchen and talked about everything. Miss Margaret lent her books, and Emma, unlike most of her classmates, devoured both domestic and foreign classics. She decided to apply to the philology department. When Emma returned home after learning she’d been accepted, her parents only said, “Well done,” and reminded her they couldn’t offer much help—three other school-aged siblings still lived at home. But Miss Margaret threw her a real celebration. She gave Emma a length of wool fabric, suggesting she have a skirt, trousers, and jacket made—there was enough material for all three. They traveled together to the district center and ordered the three-piece suit at a tailor’s, choosing a classic style, as Miss Margaret advised. She was right: that suit served Emma for years. A new blouse could transform it from professional to elegant.
From her beloved teacher, Emma learned a lesson in how to dress well: better to have fewer shoes, but of high quality; better one dress and one suit, but made of fine fabric. That’s how she dressed. It was hard to believe her trouser suit was seven years old—a scarf or shawl made it look brand new.
At university, Emma was elected to the student council, making her well-known among the faculty. Professors began suggesting she consider graduate school and start preparing. Before her thesis defense, Emma visited home. She was happy to see her family, but her priority was to talk to Miss Margaret about graduate school.
— Do you want this? — Miss Margaret asked.
— I’m not sure, — Emma replied. — I feel like teaching in a school is my calling. I can always pursue graduate school later.
— Then do that. Finding a job isn’t easy these days, not even in the city. But I think your professors will help. You just need to ask them directly.
— I’ve been thinking about that, — Emma said. — I’ll talk to the dean when I get back.
She was about to say goodbye, but Miss Margaret stopped her:
— Wait, Emma! I’ve never talked to you about this before, but I see you might follow in my footsteps, — she said, her tone less cheerful than usual.
— I’d love to… I’ve dreamed of being like you since first grade, — Emma replied.
— Here’s what I’ll tell you, dear: it’s true I chose and built my life, and I don’t regret much. Except for one thing: I could have taught other people’s children without giving up my own… If you knew how much I regret being alone now. Think about that, Emma, — Miss Margaret said, stepping forward to hug her.
Emma had thought about having children, though not often. Remembering her own childhood, she believed kids deserved the best, if not everything. For a long time, she didn’t have her own apartment. She was wary of mortgages and relied only on her savings, which she diligently added to. When she became deputy principal at one of the city’s top high schools, her salary increased significantly, and her savings grew. Eventually, she had enough to buy a small two-bedroom apartment on the secondary market. Emma cleaned it herself and decided to save for renovations, spending only on a refrigerator. She already had a laptop, and her small washing machine still worked fine.
When Miss Margaret finally visited, she praised Emma’s calculations: furniture could come later, but for now, she had a solid roof over her head. As she was leaving, at the train station, she asked:
— Emma, forgive me, but I have to ask. Are you thinking about getting married?
— No one to marry, — Emma answered immediately, then added with a modern quip: — But I’m working on it.
In truth, Emma wasn’t working on it at all.
Two years later, the high school where Emma worked was restructured to focus on advanced math and physics. Experienced teachers were hired, some from colleges. For about a year, adjustments were made: schedules were revised, students were reshuffled, and an expanded curriculum was approved. Emma often worked late, despite the school officially operating on a single shift. Meetings were frequent, open lessons were held, and expectations were high. Emma and the principal, a historian with nearly thirty years of experience, had an immediate understanding. He wasn’t a conservative, welcomed new ideas, and understood that silent classrooms weren’t a sign of a teacher’s skill. A lively discussion, where students expressed and defended their opinions, was far more valuable.
Most teachers at the school worked in this spirit, from elementary to high school. Still, as in any workplace, there were standout leaders. One was the computer science teacher, Leonard Harris. He’d come from a college, persuaded by the city’s education department to join the school, which was launching a new tech-focused program. Leonard was the perfect fit. Emma loved observing his classes. She herself embraced experiments, adopted new methods, and encouraged other teachers to do the same. Leonard, it seemed, never taught a single lesson the same way twice. No student left his class relieved that a boring lesson was over—because boredom and Leonard Harris were opposites. Then, Leonard had joyful news: after nearly a decade of marriage, he and his wife welcomed a daughter. Emma learned this from the school secretary, who was collecting money for a gift. Until then, Emma knew nothing about Leonard’s family. She generally knew little about her colleagues’ personal lives, believing it wasn’t her place. If someone needed help, that was different. Otherwise, she stayed out of it, a lesson learned from Miss Margaret, who never indulged in gossip. Emma was genuinely happy for Leonard. He was a couple of years younger than her, and it was clear he’d wanted a child. For the first time, a fleeting thought crossed her mind: what was his wife like? But it passed quickly.
Emma met Leonard’s wife under circumstances too horrific to imagine. The tragedy that struck at a city intersection sent shockwaves through the community. A young woman was killed by a car with faulty brakes.
The young parents had been heading to a pediatric checkup for their six-month-old daughter. They stood at a crosswalk, waiting for the green light. Usually, the mother pushed an empty stroller across the street, while the father carried the baby. The green light had just turned on, with plenty of time to cross. They knew the route well. But a tragic accident intervened: a jeep barreled toward the pedestrians, seemingly accelerating on purpose. It was later revealed the driver had desperately tried to brake, but the brakes failed, and the road’s slope only increased the speed. With superhuman effort, the driver managed to swerve slightly, saving several pedestrians. Several…
But not the young woman pushing the empty stroller. She died on the spot. Her husband, holding their baby, was mere inches from being struck. Leonard Harris, it was him, stood frozen, unable to take a step. Later, he replayed the moment endlessly, wondering what would have happened if he’d been on the side where his wife was walking. He thought about it day and night.
Emma saw Leonard’s wife on a funeral portrait. The coffin was closed—her face and head had been severely injured. In the portrait, she was a young woman with a short haircut, beautiful eyes, and a charming smile.
For a while, computer science classes were paused as Leonard searched for a nanny and dealt with paperwork. Then he returned to work, showing no outward signs of his grief, except for a new slouch in his posture. The school secretary told Emma that Leonard hadn’t placed his daughter in temporary care. He kept her with him and never missed a class. Months later, he and a few teachers attended the trial after the investigation concluded, identifying those responsible for the accident.
With the principal’s and staff’s full support, Leonard took leave during winter and spring breaks. Summer vacation was his official time off. He spent all his non-working hours with his daughter. The secretary said he just needed to hold on a little longer—his daughter would start kindergarten in just over a year, and his former colleagues had already secured her a spot, meaning he could stop relying on a nanny.
Emma often thought about approaching Leonard during a break or in the staff room to offer her condolences. But she never found the courage. She thought of him often, sympathized with him, and felt for his daughter, whom she’d never seen. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to say she was sorry. Truthfully, she didn’t know how. She saw herself as someone buttoned-up, emotionally reserved. She suspected her colleagues thought the same—respected, but perhaps a bit cold.
Before the new school year, Emma visited her village. She was glad to see her family doing well: the house now had gas and running water. Only her youngest sister, set to graduate high school that year, still lived with their parents. Her two brothers had served in the military, married, and moved to the city. One had a young son, the other two daughters. Emma kept in touch and had hosted them at her place, though she hadn’t found time to visit them. She planned to. After giving out gifts, Emma prepared to visit Miss Margaret.
— Go, sweetheart, — her mother said. — Miss Margaret has news.
Indeed, at her beloved teacher’s home, Emma learned something unexpected: Miss Margaret had taken guardianship of a twelve-year-old girl. It had taken effort to get approval—she was deemed too old and unmarried by some standards. But her impeccable reputation and good living conditions won out. The girl, named Lily, was sweet but painfully shy, understandable given her past: she’d never known her family, moving from the maternity hospital to an orphanage, then to a boarding school, never leaving even for holidays. At first, Lily couldn’t believe she was leaving the boarding school and stuck close to Miss Margaret. The teacher loved it—fixing Lily’s hair, hugging her, or drawing her into conversations about the new puppy in the house.
Emma saw a different Miss Margaret. Something stirred in her heart, a feeling she didn’t name but felt deeply. When Lily went to bed, they sat on the porch. Miss Margaret spoke plainly:
— I took on guardianship late. Now I worry I won’t have the strength to raise Lily. If anything happens, Emma, I’m counting on you—don’t abandon her! And one more thing. It seems you haven’t found your other half… or haven’t wanted to look. I won’t tell you what to do. Just make sure you don’t end up like me, afraid you won’t have the time or strength to raise an orphan…
Emma listened, her thoughts drifting to Leonard Harris and his daughter, whom she’d never met. What was she like?
On August 25, the school held its annual staff meeting before the new academic year. The evening before, as Emma prepared her outfit, she realized she hadn’t added two schedule options for the fifth-grade classes. She could have done it during the meeting, but Emma liked to be prepared. So she went to the school. The door was locked, but when she rang, the janitor, Mr. Peterson, let her in, saying:
— Can’t stay home, huh, Miss Emma?
— Forgot to finish something, — she replied.
— You’re not the only one, — he grinned. — There’s another…
Ignoring his comment, Emma went to her deputy principal’s office on the second floor, added the schedule options, and started to leave. As she locked the door, she heard strange sounds from a classroom down the hall. She followed them to the computer science room, where a child’s voice seemed to be singing, though the words were unclear. Emma opened the door.
Inside, Leonard Harris was placing sheets of paper with text in front of each computer. He wasn’t singing, that was certain. Seeing Emma, he blushed deeply and nodded in greeting, about to speak. But then a small girl in a red sundress and white lace blouse emerged from under the desk—her height allowed her to walk out easily. She held a stuffed bunny with a drooping ear and mischievous eyes. The girl stared at Emma for a moment, then ran toward her on tiny feet in red shoes and hugged her:
— Are you my mommy? — she asked joyfully.
Emma would never again doubt the phrase “freeze in place.” She now knew it was real and what it felt like. She wasn’t the only one stunned: Leonard stood motionless three steps away. The girl tugged Emma’s hand, wanting her to bend down. Emma did, and the girl threw her arms around her neck.
Later, as the three left the school, Leonard explained why he’d brought his daughter. The next day, he was taking her to kindergarten for the first time and worried she wouldn’t let him go easily. After the staff meeting, he planned to invite teachers to his classroom to start teaching them computer skills, so he’d come to set out brief guides to save time. With no one to watch Tonya, he brought her and her favorite bunny along.
— I’m sorry, Miss Emma, — Leonard said, embarrassed. — I don’t know why she ran to you. Tonya’s usually reserved with strangers, often hiding behind me.
Tonya, overhearing, pulled her father’s hand to stop him and said, enunciating clearly:
— Daddy! Didn’t you recognize her? She’s my mommy! She’s here!
If anyone says this doesn’t happen, they’ve never met this family. A family where two reserved, tactful people, no longer young and carrying their own burdens, surrendered to the sincerity and faith in goodness that overflowed from a little girl’s heart. Yes, their relationship didn’t start easily. Their restraint held them back. It took a whole year—365 days, as Leonard would later emphasize—for them to realize they were now three in this world. That’s their family now, three people brought together by little Tonya.
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