In high school, my math teacher seemed to enjoy making me feel small. One day, while flipping through my school’s 1989 yearbook, I noticed her in a photo wearing a jacket identical to my mom’s—a custom piece with her initials engraved on it. My mom had attended the same school, so I dug deeper and found a picture of her and my teacher holding hands, looking more than friends.
On graduation day, my mom turned pale when she saw my teacher. The teacher smiled, handed me a note that read “Ask her,” and walked away. That night, my mom confessed the truth: my teacher was her first love in high school. They’d been together for a year until my mom’s parents forced them apart.
Though my mom later married my dad, she admitted her teacher remained her true love. This revelation changed how I saw both of them and taught me about love, loss, and the hidden stories we carry.
