Sanctuary

Evelyn's POV

There’s something humbling about being fought for.

I’ve always been the one doing the protecting—holding the line, reinforcing the walls, making sure no one got through. It was easier to build a fortress than to admit I wanted someone to scale it for me.

But this week… they came.

All of them.

Students I’d taught years ago, parents I barely remembered, even colleagues who’d kept their distance during the fallout—one by one, they showed up.

And they were loud.

It started with a single post.

A picture of me in the classroom, standing beside the whiteboard, laughing with a piece of chalk in my hand. I had no idea it’d been taken—maybe by a student, maybe by someone passing by.

The caption said:

“Ms. Blackwood saved my life in high school. She never knew. She just kept showing up. If she’s being silenced for loving someone into safety, we need to be louder.”

By the end of the day, it had over four thousand shares.

By the next morning, it had tripled.

Camille called at 6 a.m.

“Don’t freak out,” she said. “You’re trending.”

“I don’t want to trend.”

“Too late. The kids have decided you’re a queer icon.”

“Oh god.”

She laughed.

Then said, “You okay?”

I looked over at Riley, still asleep beside me, her hand curled beneath her chin, hair falling across her cheek.

“I think I am.”

The petition went up less than twenty-four hours later.

A sophomore named Devon—bright, nonbinary, wickedly sarcastic—had created it. I remembered them from last year’s calculus class. They always finished the quiz before anyone else and used the extra time to doodle skulls in the margins.

Their petition title made me snort:

“Reinstate the Best Damn Teacher in the District (Yes, We’re Talking About Ms. Blackwood)”

Within hours, it had thousands of signatures.

Parents left comments.

“She helped my daughter through a breakdown.”

“The first teacher who made my son feel safe wearing nail polish.”
“The only adult my kid trusts with their real name.”

I didn’t know how to process it.

It felt too big. Too soft. Too kind.

I wasn’t used to kindness without terms.

Riley made me tea and read the comments aloud one night while I folded laundry.

And when she got to one from a student named Priya, she stopped.

Her voice caught.

“She let me take a makeup test after I had a panic attack. I never told her why I was crying. But she gave me grace anyway. I didn’t know adults could do that.”

I sat down on the floor, towel still in my lap.

Riley knelt in front of me.

“You deserve this,” she whispered.

I didn’t say anything.

Because I didn’t know how to explain that love like this felt like too much and not enough at the same time.

Like I was standing in the rain, drenched in something I didn’t know how to ask for.

Camille organized a gathering.

She called it a “community open forum,” but we both knew what it was—a show of force.

It took place in the school gym.

I tried to refuse.

“I don’t want people making a spectacle of me.”

“They’re not,” she said. “They’re reminding you you’re real. That you matter. That you’re seen.”

Riley kissed the back of my neck before I left.

“Let them see,” she whispered.

The gym was packed.

Rows of chairs. Microphones at the front. Students in homemade shirts that said “Team Blackwood.”

I sat beside Camille. Tried not to fidget. Tried not to run.

The superintendent was there. So was half the school board.

But for once, I didn’t feel like I was on trial.

I felt… protected.

A girl I barely recognized got up to speak first. Short. Red hair. Nervous hands.

“I used to be scared to go to math class,” she said. “But Ms. Blackwood didn’t just teach numbers. She taught me that I wasn’t stupid. That I could learn differently and still be worth something.”

Another student stepped up.

Then another.

Then a parent.

Someone passed around a box of tissues halfway through. I used three.

Camille leaned over.

“They’re not saving you,” she whispered. “They’re giving back.”

And I broke a little.

Because I hadn’t realized how much I needed to be given to.

After the event, I stood outside under the stars.

Riley found me there. Wrapped her arms around my waist from behind.

“You were brilliant,” she murmured.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. You were seen.”

I turned in her arms.

Let my head fall to her shoulder.

“Why does it hurt so much to be loved?”

She stroked my back.

“Because it’s heavy,” she said. “But you’re strong enough to carry it now.”

We stood like that for a long time.

And when we went home, I read every signature on the petition before bed.

Every single one.

And for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like I had to prove I belonged.

I just… did.

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~F