Chapter 228: Teacher's Bias

Diana POV

After those beautiful wedding celebrations, life had finally settled into a pleasant rhythm. Jacob and Joanne returned to school, while I spent my days at home. During the quiet hours when the twins were away, I read through textbooks, preparing for my eventual return to university after the baby arrived.

This peaceful routine continued for over a month, until one afternoon. The front door opened, but instead of the usual excited chatter, an unusual silence filled the hallway.

"Jacob? Joanne?" I called out, setting aside my textbook.

They appeared in the doorway, faces uncharacteristically solemn. Jacob stood slightly ahead of his sister, as if shielding her.

"Hey, you two," I said, opening my arms. "How was school today?"

Joanne moved forward for a hug, but Jacob remained where he was, unnaturally still.

"It was okay," he mumbled, his eyes downcast.

I studied them carefully, keeping my voice gentle. "Hey, if something's bothering you at school, you can tell me."

Jacob finally looked up. "Ms. Hayek was mean to Joanne today."

"What happened?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral.

"Tommy took Joanne's little blanket during rest time," he explained. "She was crying, and I went to get it back. But Ms. Hayek said we were making a big fuss over nothing."

I frowned. "She actually said that? Has she been treating you two like this before?"

"She used to be really nice to us," Joanne whispered. "But she's different now. She doesn't smile at us anymore."

Jacob nodded. "So I gave Joanne my blanket instead. But then I was cold during nap time."

I touched Jacob's forehead, alarmed to find it warm. "Jacob, you're running a fever. Why didn't you tell Ms. Hayek you weren't feeling well?"

"I did," he said. "She said I was fine and to lie down."

Joanne's bottom lip trembled. "Jacob kept shaking, Mommy. He was so cold without his blanket."

A surge of anger rushed through me, but I fought to keep my expression calm. The last thing I wanted was to frighten the children with my reaction.

After settling Jacob in bed with medicine, I took Joanne to the kitchen for a snack and gently probed for more information. The teacher's attitude had suddenly changed, and I was certain there had to be a reason. I needed to identify the cause before I could properly address the situation.

"Have you been working on any special projects at school lately?" I asked casually.

Joanne thought for a moment, then shook her head. "Not really. Just normal stuff."

I nodded, then tried a different approach. "What about Ms. Hayek? Has she given your class any special assignments recently?"

"Oh!" Joanne's eyes brightened with recognition. "We did have to draw pictures of where our parents work. Jacob and I drew a big green truck."

"A truck?" I asked, confused.

"The big green truck!" she said, her eyes getting wide. "Daddy took us to that big place! The guys with green shirts were putting bottles in bins! You said they're superheroes 'cause they save the planet from yucky stuff!"

Understanding dawned. Last weekend, Bradley had taken us to visit the environmental division of one of his companies. The children had been fascinated by the massive sorting machinery.

Ms. Hayek must have thought my children came from a family of sanitation workers. And based on that assumption, she had decided they deserved less care and attention.

The realization inflamed my sense of justice. Every child deserved the same care and respect, regardless of their parents' occupation—and sanitation work was honorable, necessary labor that benefited everyone.

I asked Suzanne to contact Ms. Hayek for a home visit. I wanted to teach this teacher a proper lesson. To test if she was indeed shallow and judgmental, I instructed Suzanne to tell her our meeting would be at the Lakeside Heights apartment rather than our actual home.

Suzanne later reported back with Ms. Hayek's appalling response. The teacher had been extremely reluctant, expressing concern that our home might be filled with garbage. Only after Suzanne threatened to report her to the school board did Ms. Hayek reluctantly agree to come.

At the appointed time, I waited in our modest apartment, deliberately dressed in simple clothes with all jewelry removed.

Ms. Hayek arrived promptly, her expression one of barely concealed distaste as she glanced around.

"Mrs. Booth, I'm surprised by how tidy everything is," she commented, an edge to her voice. "Not what I expected from a family in your profession."

I gestured to the couch. "Please, have a seat. I wanted to discuss my children's experience in your classroom."

"Children often exaggerate," she replied dismissively. "I'm sure whatever happened wasn't as serious as they made it seem."

"Jacob has a fever," I stated flatly. "He gave his blanket to Joanne after hers was taken. When he told you he was cold, you dismissed him."

She shifted uncomfortably. "Rest time is only thirty minutes. It's hardly enough time to catch a chill."

As our conversation continued, Ms. Hayek's prejudice became increasingly clear.

"While I'm sure sanitation work is very... noble," she practically sneered the word, "it doesn't exactly set high academic expectations for children."

"So because you believe my husband and I are sanitation workers," I challenged, "you feel justified in providing our children with less care?"

"I didn't say that," she backtracked quickly. "I simply meant that some children require more structure than others. Perhaps your children would be better suited to a different educational environment—one more aligned with your family's lifestyle."

"And what exactly do you think our lifestyle is?"

"Well," she gestured at the apartment, "modest. Which is perfectly fine, of course. But our school caters to families with certain expectations and standards."

"Standards like basic human decency? Like treating all children with kindness regardless of their background?"

Ms. Hayek straightened, clearly offended. "I treat all my students fairly, Mrs. Booth. If your children feel otherwise, perhaps they're misinterpreting normal classroom management."

"My five-year-old son has a fever because you wouldn't intervene when his blanket was taken. How is that a misinterpretation?"

"Children get sick all the time," she dismissed. "And they need to learn to solve their own problems."

"So if a child is being bullied—"

"That's a strong word," she interrupted.

"If a child is being mistreated," I amended, "you, as their teacher, have no responsibility to help?"

Ms. Hayek sighed heavily. "Perhaps we should schedule a meeting with your husband present. Sometimes these discussions are more productive with both parents."

I smiled thinly. "That's an excellent idea. In fact, my husband isn't here right now, but I'd be happy to take you to him."

Her demeanor shifted noticeably when we turned onto the private drive leading to our home. The manicured gardens and wrought-iron gates clearly signaled wealth, and confusion crept across her features.

"Where are we?" she asked, her voice suddenly higher.

"We're going to see my husband," I replied simply.

Parker was waiting at the entrance when we arrived.

Ms. Hayek practically launched herself from the car, rushing toward Parker with an outstretched hand. "You must be Mr. Booth! I'm Amy Hayek, your children's teacher. So nice to finally meet you. I've been trying to resolve a little misunderstanding with your wife."