The Name I Hadn’t Heard in 15 Years
Melissa.
I hadn’t heard that name in over a decade.
We went to college together.
We weren’t friends.
We barely spoke.
But I remembered her.
I remembered the way she looked at me during class discussions.
I remembered one group project where she accused me of trying to “get a better grade by acting sweet.”
I remembered her confronting me once, accusing me of flirting with a professor.
And I remembered the sentence I heard through a mutual acquaintance:
“Emma’s fake sweet — like a sugar-coated knife.”
I had forgotten her.
Apparently, she hadn’t forgotten me.
The principal straightened.
“We’ll handle this internally,” she said quickly. “Please let us speak to her first.”
No.
I was done waiting for institutions to protect my child.
Before I even finished deciding what to do next, the school called.
They asked me to come in immediately.
When I arrived, I was ushered into the front office.
Melissa was there.
Arms crossed.
Jaw clenched.
When she saw me, she didn’t flinch.
She smirked.
“Of course it’s you,” she said.
My stomach flipped.
“What did you just say?”
She stepped closer, voice low and cold.
“You always thought you were better than everyone else, didn’t you?”
I stared at her, stunned.
She kept going like she’d been holding a speech in her throat for 15 years.
“Professors loved you. Classmates loved you.”
“Perfect little Emma — smart, sweet, kind.”
“Always smiling like life is a movie.”
Her voice shook with something that wasn’t anger anymore.
It was obsession.
“Guess it runs in the family,” she hissed.
“That was 15 years ago,” I said quietly. “And none of that gives you the right to treat my daughter like this.”
Melissa’s eyes sharpened.
“She needed to learn the world doesn’t reward pretty little girls who think the rules don’t apply to them,” she snapped.
I felt something primal rise in me.
“You bullied my child because of me?”
“She’s just like you,” Melissa said, venomous. “All smiles and sunshine. It’s fake.”
The principal’s voice cut in, firm.
“That’s enough. Melissa, step outside.”
Melissa walked past me, eyes locked on mine, like she wanted me to carry her bitterness home.
I couldn’t even speak.
I walked out on autopilot, shaking the entire drive.
That night, I didn’t tell Lily the whole truth.
I just held her and told her one thing:
“You won’t have to see that teacher anymore.”
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