Page 30 of Teacher's Pet

I blink, lifting my head from my desk to see Mrs. Briar standing in the doorway, her expression warm but slightly confused.

"No, I just came in early. Needed a quiet place to think."

She glances at her watch, brows raising. "Thirty minutes early?" She lets out a soft laugh, her voice light. "I must be one hell of a teacher for you to want that much extra time in my classroom."

A small smile tugs at her lips, and, despite everything, I find myself appreciating her presence. Mrs. Briar looks like she stepped straight out of a magazine, her flowy dress moving effortlessly as she walks, white heels clicking softly against the floor. She wears elegance like second nature. Around her neck, a delicate cross dangles, catching the light, and on her finger, a wedding ring most women would kill for glints with quiet opulence.

The Briars are well-known in Spokehaven, a family practically synonymous with charity and community outreach. From everything I’ve heard, their work with the youth is unmatched, their kindness not just a facade but a genuine extension of who they are. And judging by the framed pictures on her desk, her husband is just as put-together, handsome in a way that almost doesn’t seem fair, and their kids? They look like they were plucked straight from a Gerber baby ad, all bright smiles and perfect little curls.

Everything about her radiates warmth, perfection. A stark contrast to the chaos currently unraveling in my own life.

At one point, a rumor spread like wildfire that Mrs. Briar’s husband used to be the priest at her church. It was the kind of gossip that had people whispering in hallways, exchanging knowing glances. But the moment she walked into work with a hickey on her neck and robe burns on her wrists, the rumor vanished just as quickly as it had started.

No priest would tear into a woman like that.

"Just a lot on my mind," I say again, exhaling a sigh.

Mrs. Briar nods slowly, studying me with a look that’s equal parts curiosity and concern. With the effortless grace she always carries, she moves to sit on the edge of her desk, her hands resting lightly on her lap.

"Well, I’m not a teacher for another thirty minutes if you need someone to talk to," she offers with a soft smile.

I let out a short laugh, shaking my head.

"I appreciate it, Mrs. Briar, but the last thing I need is to slip up and say the wrong thing and have you report me."

"Thirty minutes, Ana," she whispers, leaning forward just slightly. "I’m all ears. Plus, it’s only you and me in here."

I hesitate, weighing my options, before letting out a heavy sigh.

"Have you ever been with someone you knew you shouldn’t have?"

The moment the question leaves my lips, she bursts into laughter, smacking her leg with a grin. But my amusement fades when I catch sight of the scars. Deep, white lines running up and down her skin where her dress has ridden up from her movement.

Fuck… are those-

"Boy, have I," she chuckles, shaking her head. "And I married him."

"Wait," I scoff, blinking in disbelief. "Those rumors about your husband being your church’s priest-"

"All true," she interrupts, her grin widening. "And man, were my parents pissed. God bless my brother for keeping my secret as long as he did."

"Were you not scared of the consequences?" I ask, my voice quieter now.

She tilts her head slightly, as if remembering something distant, something heavy.

"Honey, I dealt with the consequences. We all did. I got lucky with how things panned out and bless Zoey for marrying my brother’s sporadic ass and giving him someone else to worry about." She exhales a soft laugh before meeting my gaze again, her expression shifting into something more serious.

"But if you’re asking if I felt like it was worth it…." Her smile turns knowing, almost wistful. "Yes."

"Even if you knew it was wrong?" I interrupt, my voice quieter than before.

Mrs. Briar’s expression shifts slightly, her eyes narrowing as she crosses her arms over her chest. She studies me carefully before tilting her head, her voice light but probing.

"Well, I’ve seen the priest at the Catholic church here," she muses. "I’d say he’s a tad too old for you if you’re choosing to follow down my path," she jokes, a teasing smile on her lips.

I don’t laugh. I don’t even crack a smile.

The silence stretches between us until she exhales, her expression turning more serious. "How wrong are we talking?" she finally asks, her tone quieter now, more thoughtful.

---