He looked stunned.
“I want to teach. Like Mom.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“I already accepted a job. Fourth grade at a public school in Decatur.”
He stared at me.
“You’ll make forty thousand dollars a year.”
“I know.”
“You’re a Caldwell.”
“I know.”
Then I said something that changed us for years.
“That’s the problem. I don’t want to be a Caldwell. I want to be someone who shows up.”
His face closed.
I moved out that week.
A one-bedroom apartment in Decatur.
A noisy window air conditioner.
At school, I began using my middle name with parents.
Simone Grace.
On paperwork, I often left the family-contact section empty.
I told myself I didn’t need my father.
I was right about his money.
Not necessarily about him.
I met Roland Tran when I was twenty-seven.
He was a financial adviser in Buckhead.
Handsome.
Charming.
Easy to talk to.
He came to my school’s career day carrying an enormous plastic piggy bank and explained saving money to my fourth graders.
The kids adored him.
He asked me out afterward in the parking lot.
On our third date, he asked about my family.
“My mother died when I was sixteen. My father and I aren’t close. He’s mostly retired now. He worked in logistics.”
