Chapter 7: Inside Room Twelve
The hallway of Oakridge Elementary smelled of floor wax and old paper. Framed construction-paper turkeys and watercolor finger-paintings lined the cinderblock walls, a colorful facade masking the administrative rot that Marco's audit was currently unravelling upstairs. I paused outside room twelve, my fingers brushing the cool brass handle before I pushed the door open just enough to peer inside. The room was filled with low wooden tables, tiny chairs, and the quiet murmur of twenty children sitting cross-legged on a patterned alphabet rug.
Emma sat near the front, her brown hair neatly braided with those familiar loose strands framing her face. She wasn't wearing her sparkly red princess tiara today—school rules, no doubt—but her red cardigan caught the pale morning light streaming through the tall windows. Her shoulders were slightly hunched over a box of crayons, her small hands carefully coloring a picture of an autumn pumpkin. As I stepped fully into the classroom, the wooden floorboards creaked beneath my polished shoes, drawing the immediate attention of the teacher.
Mrs. Gable, a tired-looking woman in her late forties with wire-rimmed glasses, turned from the blackboard. Her professional smile faltered slightly when she took in my immaculate black suit and the quiet intensity of my gaze. "Can I help you, sir?" she asked, her voice dropping into that cautious, polite register reserved for strangers who clearly didn't belong in a public school wing.
"I’m Lorenzo Duca," I said, my voice carrying easily across the quiet room without needing to raise it. "I’m here to see Emma Bennett."
At the sound of my name, Emma’s head snapped up. The green crayon slipped from her fingers, rolling across the linoleum floor with a soft clatter. Her eyes widened, a sudden, brilliant light breaking through the solemn expression she usually wore. She didn't hesitate; she pushed herself up from the alphabet rug and ran across the room, her small sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. Before Mrs. Gable could process the situation, Emma had wrapped her arms tightly around my waist, burying her face against the black fabric of my suit jacket. I knelt instantly, my knees hitting the floor, and wrapped one arm gently around her small shoulders.
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"You came back," she whispered fiercely against my chest, her voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and profound relief.
"I told you I would, Emma Bennett," I replied softly, resting my hand against her neat braid. "One day means all day."
