A young girl shares an important secret with her instructor in a quiet classroom. The heroes of this novel are seven-year-old Rachel and her teacher, who learn a story that no child her age should hear.
Hello! My name is Zuzana and I work as a teacher in the second grade. I have too many classroom anecdotes to count. However, one anecdote stands out and stayed with me long after the school bell rang.
In addition to being a teacher, I share this because I have witnessed the effects of the hardships and secrets our children carry.
It concerns Rachel, the shining star in my class with a secret that was too big for her small frame. This happened in our class during the quiet hours after school.
And there I was, nearing the end of the day, the last remnants of children’s laughter disappearing down the hall. And there’s Rachel once again, the only person in the abandoned classroom.
Although it wasn’t a completely new scene, something felt heavier that day.
Maybe it was how the silence grew stronger, or how lonelier Rachel seemed.
“Is your mom late again?” he asked trying to sound positive. I secretly felt a pang of worry.
She was probably just catching up. She’ll be here in a minute,” I said, talking myself up more than Rachel. I forced a smile, but my fingers drummed uncomfortably on the table.
It was gradually getting dark in the classroom and I had already sent the teaching assistant away. There’s no reason for the two of us to stay up late because of Rachel’s mother’s forgetfulness.
The act of waiting has gotten too used to us. Sometimes it was just extra minutes; in others, it lasted for several hours.
The only constant was her mother’s tendency to be late. In class, Rachel was such a bright spot – smart and inquisitive. Why she had to deal with this was inexplicable.
And not to mention the other kids. Somehow they believed that Rachel was a witch and stopped her from doing anything.
To make them play well, I tried to talk to them. No luck though. Children can be cruel, especially if they believe someone is not like them.
It was the same narrative every day.
Rachel’s mother was late. And I, torn in the middle, eager to contribute more but unsure how to make the transition from instructor to something more.
So here was this moment. I decided enough was enough and called social services hoping to get Rachel some help. However, talking to them was like banging your head against a brick wall.
“She’s taken care of, doesn’t miss school, and doesn’t seem like a problem here,” they told me. “We can’t start poking just because her mom is always late and you’re a little upset about it.”
Angry? Not irritated, but worried.
The difference is significant. Feeling like I was the only one who saw the problem was aggravating.
Mrs. Mulligan, it’s okay. I’m sure he won’t be arriving anytime soon,” Rachel muttered resignedly in a low voice. She was so used to this routine that she didn’t even bother wearing a coat. It broke my heart.
Of course, she’s coming. She’s just really busy, but she loves you,” I found myself saying. But those remarks seemed pointless. When Rachel’s mother appeared, it was usually with a look of exhaustion and nervousness, like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.
She is not in love with me. I scared her.” It was like a kick in the stomach to hear Rachel say that. A child should never feel this way. Something was wrong at home and it was as clear as day.
“Why do you think mom is afraid of you?” I’m asking.
She said, “Mommy spends the whole night in her room,” without skipping a beat. She only leaves the house to drop me off at school.
That really got to me. Think of it as your only communication. “But she makes you dinner, doesn’t she?” I had to make an inquiry.
“Yes, he is setting the table for my dinner.
Rachel remarked, “I’ll just take it and eat it myself,” as if it were the most normal thing ever.
I tried to understand it.
While her mother hid in her room, Rachel was left home alone with a bowl of food to keep her company. “What exactly is he hiding from? or anyone else?” I thought out loud.
“No, it’s all my fault. I suppose she should stay in her room to protect herself from me.”
Ensure? from your own daughter? I couldn’t accept it. “Why would she think she’s not safe around you?”
“Because he thinks I might… because I’m a witch,” Rachel muttered as she continued to wave her tiny legs, hiding her expression.
My heart almost burst. This adorable little girl has been teased by some ignorant kids, leading her to believe that she is some kind of monster. Worse, her mother’s worries made it worse.
“You’re not a witch, Rachel. And you haven’t hurt anyone with magical powers.”
That’s not real,” I said, sounding more assertive than I intended.
But I managed to knock Stephanie down. I’m sure of it,” she confirmed.
It was a day I remembered very clearly. Stephanie had just had a minor accident when she tripped. However, gossip between children is a different story. Rachel had become a villain in their eyes, and now she was beginning to believe it too.
“No, Rachel. Stephanie passed out suddenly. It was an accident. Trying to calm myself, I added, “You have to trust me. I realized I was getting agitated – not my best teaching moment. But it really got to me, watching Rachel so sure she was hurting others because some kids can’t be nice.
It was a mess – Rachel called herself a witch and her mother was afraid of her own child. I felt trapped in a mess, wanting to help but not knowing how to get past any of them.
It was one of those examples that remind us that teaching is much more than just math, reading, and writing. It is about these little people and their extremely complex lives.
So there I was with Rachel, the classroom almost resonating with its emptiness. Rachel suddenly revealed something to me that I just hadn’t seen.
Rachel admitted, trying to sound brave in her soft voice, “My mom is afraid of me because I know her secret,” but I could also hear the hidden pain.
I said, “What do you mean, Rachel?” with delicacy. What’s the secret?”
She played with the edge of the table, pausing for a moment before whispering, “They think I’m going to tell about the man who comes when Dad isn’t there.” It really got me how simply and innocently you said it.
Rachel noticed the man who was taking care of her while her father was away on vacation. Even though she didn’t mean to, she saw him. And now, because of that, it’s like she and her mother have this huge secret.
My heart sank when I heard this. This young girl was caught up in something that no child should ever have to deal with.
I couldn’t just ignore it when the next time Rachel’s mother showed up, she looked rushed and said she was behind on work again. I gently asked if Rachel was avoiding me. She dismissed it with a quick apology, but shame was evident on her face.
About a month later, things reached a boiling point. Rachel’s father came to take her instead of her mother. At that point, I found out that Rachel had informed him of everything she had noticed. The consequences came quickly. Before we knew it, her mom had packed everything and left when her dad confronted her.
It was a terribly confusing situation. Still, Rachel persevered braver than anyone could have imagined for a child her age. After she decided to live with her father, they gradually began to create a new normal together.
As I watched them, it struck me how strong and resilient children can be and how easily their strength can catch you by surprise.
It was a lesson not only in the difficulties that some of them face outside of school but also in the extraordinary bravery with which they are able to face such difficulties.
How do you feel about this story? We’d love to hear what you think about it if you leave a comment below our Facebook post.
If Rachel’s experience touched you, please share your story with others. Spread the word by sharing this post. Let’s make these crucial discussions public.
My young daughter inadvertently revealed my husband’s secret and her revelation made me cry.
I was a child of divorce. When I was in seventh grade, my father had an affair that destroyed my mother. She lost all zest for life and turned into a frightened woman as a result of the affair.
Every time I tried to bring it up, she replied, “Does it matter, Ivy?” “What difference would it make?”
All I knew in the years that followed was the misery of living in a house with a divorced husband.
One day, while baking with my mom, I said, “I don’t think I’m going to get married, mom.”
“Why on earth not?” she asked as she fidgeted.
“You two watch, Dad. I’ll never know for sure if my husband is having an extramarital affair.”
Ivy, for God’s sake. Not every man is going to be like your dad,” she laughed.
“Love, better things await you. However, now you know what not to do.”
“Which is?” Not sure what he was talking about, I asked.
“Never let your guard down, even for a split second. But you also have to believe in successful marriages.
I still wasn’t convinced that I should enter into any partnerships, even after hearing her words.
Was it really my intention to get engaged to someone and then turn into a boring part of their life?
It was a terrible thought.
However, I later ran into Jordan in the supermarket. And something about him broke my walls even though they were up. At first, I wasn’t sure if my loneliness had turned to the point where I was looking for companionship in someone else instead of dreaming about the possibilities.
He said taking a slushy sip, “I’m Jordan.”
“Ivy,” I replied, disobeying every voluntary restraint.
Four years later we got married and I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
My mother said, “I told you, Ivy,” one evening over tea. “Not everyone is like your father.
My mother was partially right: Jordan was an amazing man.
Even after we got married, I still had doubts.
A few years later, a routine morning spent with our child changed my perspective and I realized my doubts.
I went downstairs in my slippers to find my husband, who is always an early riser, making breakfast for the two of us.
I went downstairs in my slippers to find my husband, who is always an early riser, making breakfast for the two of us.
“Ivy, you have to leave school today, okay?” He spoke as he added milk to our coffee.
I replied, “Sure,” even though it seemed bizarre.
I always ran in the afternoon and Jordan dropped me off in the morning. That’s just how it’s been since Mia enrolled in school.
“Mom needs me to take her to the doctor this morning before work,” he murmured, kissing my cheek. “She’s doing tests, she’s afraid she might pass out.
I nodded, fully understanding.
Because of their close relationship, Jordan’s mother often turned to him for support in various situations.
Mia had no idea of the bomb that was about to be dropped when she went downstairs for breakfast.
“Ready for school today?” I asked while combing her hair.
Her response was, “Yes, Mom!” Today we use colored paper to make turkeys!
“What’s for breakfast?”
“Dad made pancakes today,” the spokesperson said.
We had given Mia breakfast and packed lunch so we were about to go when she suddenly stopped.
“Mom, can I see your hand?” she asked.
She gasped as I reached out for her.
“Mom! Take off your ring,” she ordered.
“You’re only supposed to wear it at home.”
Confused, I sank to her level.
“Who told you that, honey? I wear my wedding ring all the time.”
“Every morning Dad takes the ring off and hides it behind the closet. Every morning.”
“Tell me where,” I asked.
Even though I was aware that we would be late for school, I felt compelled to learn more about Jordan’s activities, especially since my child seemed to be well-informed about them.
Mia climbed the stairs one step at a time, her backpack bouncing off her back.
With a gravity uncharacteristic of her age, she entered our bedroom and took out a small box from under our wardrobe before offering it to me.
“There,” she murmured. You can also place yours in this location before we leave. Dad puts it here before we visit Linda every time.”
“Linda?” “Who is Linda?”
“Linda is beautiful when I grow up I want to look like Linda” Mia replied.
“Mommy, she has such long and beautiful hair.
Jordan’s wedding was truly down the aisle.
My thoughts were racing. And I started feeling anxious. All the memories of my parents’ broken relationship came flooding back. My hands were cold and I turned pale as my anxiety increased.
Taking a deep breath, I held the box tightly and made up my mind. I would not let the past define my present, nor would I allow secrets to spill in my marriage.
“Mia, thank you for showing me,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “We’ll take you to school and then I need to talk to Dad.
It felt like forever to drop Mia off, but I managed to keep my composure. The moment I got home I found Jordan. His face fell when he saw the box in my hands.
“Ivy, I can explain it to you,” he began, but I cut him off.
“Jordana, why are you taking off your ring? Who is Linda?”
He looked at me with a mixture of guilt and frustration. “Linda is a colleague. I didn’t want her to know I was married because… she was my boss and I thought it might affect my promotion. It was stupid and wrong and I’m sorry.”
His explanation hit me like a punch in the gut. It wasn’t an affair, but it was still a betrayal of trust. “Jordana, you should have told me. Hiding things only makes them worse.”
“I know,” he admitted with lowered eyes. “I was afraid you’d think the worst, like your parents’ situation.
I sighed, the weight of the past and present weighing heavily on my shoulders. “Jordana, we have to be honest with each other. Always. I can’t live in a marriage full of secrets and mistrust.”
He nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. “I promise, Ivy. No more secrets. I’ll tell Linda everything and accept the consequences.”
That evening, when we picked Mia up from school, Jordan and I sat and talked for hours. We discussed our fears, our past, and our hopes for the future. It was a painful conversation, but it was necessary.
In the weeks that followed, Jordan kept his promise. He told Linda about his marriage, faced the consequences, and focused on rebuilding the trust between us. It wasn’t easy, but it was a start.
Our marriage is not perfect and it never will be. However, we are committed to being honest and supportive of each other, and that is a foundation worth building on.
And Mia? She taught me a valuable lesson that day: the truth, no matter how painful, is always better than a lie. Children see more than we realize and deserve to grow up in an environment where honesty and trust are paramount.
And so, as we continue to navigate life together, I hold on to hope that love, honesty, and resilience will see us through all the challenges ahead.