When big felines see their prey, they wait as long as they need to make the first move and finish their hunt successfully. And that was my time in college.

In my early years, Shanaya gave me a promotion and I became a hostess upon entering college. Now, her restaurant was a success and was getting more than our local neighbors’ attention.

For me, that was a sign I needed to change my life again for three reasons. First, to remain incognito. Second, the urge to feed my little vice started tickling, and I appreciated some privacy to do it. And third, my maternal calling intensified. 

One day, we were cleaning the salon after the birthday of the Rivera’s eldest daughter. The seven-year-old and her parents loved Aerosmith, and the decoration included golden balloons and a Steven Tyler-themed cake they left us.

After we finished, we hopped onto the counter, plates in hand, and I brought up what I’d been thinking (minus the homicidal urge). I thanked her for everything she’d done, and then, with a bit of a spark, told her about the new goals I was ready to chase.

“A baby bird needs to leave the nest sometime, doesn’t it?” 

She shrugged and giggled. “Alright, you sound like you already have a plan. Let’s hear it.”

We talked a lot. As I was one year away from graduating, we agreed that, as soon as I could teach, I should move somewhere closer to my new job. That way, I could apply my acquired knowledge, not having to worry much about transportation. Soon, that idea started shaping into reality.

Among us aspiring teachers, the school I attended during my final year of graduation was renowned. Many considered it a top career launching point – its facilities were great, and the community regarded its employees. I thought it couldn’t get any better.

During my fourth grade internship, I assisted the home teacher, Mr. Thompson, a middle-aged man with short brown hair, glasses, and a calm smile. Besides his heart condition, he reminded me of Ned Flanders from The Simpsons. He spoke fondly of his family: his two daughters, ages five and fifteen, who were inseparable, and his wife, known throughout the neighborhood for baking the best pumpkin pie.

His interactions with the kids always mesmerized me. They loved him like a special friend. I spent hours helping him, observing and learning his ways. In no time, the old man’s crew grew fond of me, too.

“You have an extraordinary gift,” he told me, as we were on our way to the teacher’s room.

“It’s no gift, Mr. Thompson,” I chuckled, “it’s practice. I am only improving, thanks to your help.”

“Taking honest compliments is also a trait you must master if you want to be a sturdy and confident teacher, Ms. Graham.” He opened the door. “Be proud of what you do. Understanding the good we do in the world keeps us afloat.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”

“Now, let me show you some tricks for parent meetings. They will come in handy when you have your own class.”

* * * * *

When I had my teaching certificate in hand, I had already moved from Shanaya’s place into a studio apartment. It was small, cozy, and practical, and wasn’t hard to keep tidy. 

The school year was just beginning, and I was over-excited to meet my new students. Those kids were adorable, buzzing with that endless six-year-old energy. Taking care of them and having them around felt sweet and right, but deep down, I knew it wasn’t what I needed.

A couple of months later, I was looking after my darling angels during the break, and that was when I saw a boy, alone, sitting on a swing, playing by himself.

He wore sweatpants, black sneakers, and a Superman T-shirt. His pink cheeks had freckles all over, and his upturned nose made him even cuter. 

That took me back to a time when I was happy living in the countryside. When I still believed in heaven, my mother showed me pictures of angels in a religious book. Somewhere in the past when I hadn’t been called the Devil yet.

And Josh, with his fair skin, looked just like those pure, innocent, godly creatures.

He is perfect. I got closer and squatted.

“Hello there. Is everything okay?”

He stared at me, his eyes bright as two enormous emeralds.

“Yeah, everything’s okay.”

“I’m a teacher here, too.” I showed him my ID badge. “What’s your name, buddy?”

“Josh! There you are!”

Mr. Thompson’s voice sounded inappropriate for the moment. What is he doing here? 

“Hello, Ms. Graham. I see you already met my new transfer student.” He winked, and I forced myself to smile back.

“This young man here? Yeah, we became acquaintances. Right, Josh?”

The boy nodded.

“Break is almost over, so we better go. Com’on, buddy. Say goodbye to Ms. Graham. I’ll see you later in the teacher’s room!”

“Bye, Ms. Graham, nice to meet you.”

As they walked past me, a dense wave of feelings took over and it seemed I’d fall on my knees. Anger rose like lava spilling off a volcano, and my heart pumped in my chest the fastest it had beaten in many years. I slipped back to the moment I spent gazing at that baby sparrow when I was a little girl. I had found my child.

The emotions were so overwhelming that I was erratic and inattentive during the rest of my classes. How was I supposed to focus on anything other than my calling, my duty, my son? Time passed in a flash and suddenly I was in my apartment, pacing circles around my living room, lost in thought.

“How?” That was the question I repeated to myself. I had to get closer and understand better about Josh, his hobbies, and tastes, before letting him know about our destiny and that we would be a family soon.

I meandered to the fridge, opened a can of beer, and took a sip. How can I access his information, investigate it, and record all that raising no suspicion? If only I had his student file at hand…

I walked in circles for another ten long minutes, drinking, and mumbling to myself. During my last lap, I gasped and slapped my forehead. The answer was under my nose. It would require both effort and waiting, but it would be worth it.

* * * * *

It was a beautiful day at lunchtime. Some of us had taken our lunch boxes to work, including Mr. Thompson and me. We gathered around the same table to enjoy our meal, joined by a few other teachers. With summer break a couple of weeks away, the conversation was lighthearted and fun. We each brought something to share for dessert, making the moment even sweeter.

I baked some coconut cake with creamy chocolate frosting, which I offered in individual portions. Mr. Patel brought kalakand, Mrs. Davis gave us some pudding, and Mr. Thompson proudly served his wife’s pumpkin pie. We ate to our hearts’ content, and a while later, my mentor and I were the ones left behind, still talking about our daily lives.

“So, the youngest of the Taylors is behaving like an angel? I would’ve never guessed he would undergo such a magnificent transformation anytime soon!”

“Not only did he do it, but he also makes sure I see him as my helper every single day,” I laughed.

“That’s wonderful news indeed. Oh, look at the time. We should get going.” He affirmed, getting up. “Your cake was delicious, Tessa.”

“Thank you, Mr. Thompson. It was an old family recipe. And your wife’s pie lives up to its reputation.” 

“She’ll be glad to hear it. I always tell her I could happily die after eating that.” He laughed, but soon his face winced and he let out a husky cough.

“Mr. Thompson?” 

He coughed again, again and again. I asked what was happening, but the only answer I got was him reaching for his stomach and chest before his vomit filled the floor. 

“Oh, my God. Somebody, we need help, now!” I screamed at my colleagues nearby, holding onto him.

In a split second, the teacher’s room turned into chaos. Mrs. Davis helped lay him down, Mr. Patel ran to call the Director, and the others called an ambulance and went outside to control the students.

No one could keep the children calm with everything that was happening, especially after they heard the sirens. Paramedics arrived soon, but they could do nothing in the end.

The day after, we teachers gathered at the gym to support the director, Mrs. Brooks, as she gave the hard news of Mr. Thompson’s passing. As we stepped down from the stage, my heart warmed as many of his students — who knew me from my time as his intern or as his close friend — came straight to me for a hug. Including Josh.

Hours later, I found out that this gesture didn’t go unnoticed. I was called to the director’s office and should head there after my classes ended. When I arrived, the short red-headed woman asked me to take a seat.

“Ms. Graham, I understand this might be too soon, but I needed to speak with you before the end of the day.”

“It is, for all of us who lost such a good friend, Mrs. Brooks.” I accepted the tissue she handed me.

“Such a tragedy.” She sighed. “But among all this pain and sorrow, we can’t afford to let the kids suffer more than they already are. And I saw how his students like you, and considering how close you both were… Would you help us and assist Mr. Thompson’s substitute?”

I nodded and let my tears run loose. She hugged me for a few minutes, and I noticed she cried too. But I knew that, although we were acting alike, our reasons for doing so couldn’t be more different.

After I killed my father, I had never been happier in my life until that moment. My plan worked beautifully.

* * * * *

At the funeral, a couple of stubborn tears rolled down my cheeks when the youngest daughter talked about her feelings for her dad. Shanaya was there with me, and she caressed my shoulders when she noticed how I reacted.

Mrs. Thompson’s words made every person in the room feel emotional, including myself. It fascinated me to witness such loyalty and love from someone who was both a wife and mother. She reminded me of mine.

When I went to her to give my condolences, she thanked me with tears in her eyes.

“Matt used to talk so much about you. He was proud of your work. I heard what you did to help him. Thank you for being there.”

“I was very lucky to have found such an outstanding person to guide me. And your pie is indeed amazing, as he used to brag about.”

She gave me a timid smile. I was the one who should thank her. His pride in her culinary skills made it easy to find an excuse to share food at school with each other.

All I needed was patience until the arsenic arrived, the right amount in the cake mixture, and the path to my chosen son was clear. While everyone else mourned, my chest burned with joy. Every day, life kept improving, and I could almost sense the sweetness of motherhood.