My mum works nights at St. Brigid’s Hospital. My dad commands rescue missions at sea. They both help keep people safe.
Beside her mother’s name, she drew a small lamp because Rosa once said hospital cleaners were like people who carried light after everyone else had gone home. Beside her father’s name, Lila drew four tiny stripes, not perfect but straight enough to make her proud.
When Ms. Vance walked down the aisle collecting cards, Lila sat taller.
The teacher reached Lila’s desk, lifted the card, and read it.
Her smile froze.
At first Lila thought she had spelled something wrong.
Then Ms. Vance looked at her cardigan, her scuffed shoes, and the little pencil mark on her thumb.
‘Lila,’ she said, loud enough for the first row to hear, ‘this is not a stage play.’
A few children turned.
Lila blinked. ‘Pardon?’
Ms. Vance held up the card. ‘A naval commander? Rescue missions at sea?’
The parents at the back quieted.
Lila’s stomach tightened.
‘Yes, miss.’
‘Your mother works in the hospital laundry, doesn’t she?’
Lila knew the tone before she understood the trap. It was the tone some people used when Rosa came to pick her up still wearing her plain grey coat. It was the tone that made words like works hard sound smaller than they were.
‘She works for the sanitation department,’ Lila said. ‘She helps keep wards clean.’
‘And yet your father is supposedly a decorated commander.’
A child near the window whispered something. Someone gave a short laugh. Not a child. One of the visiting parents.
Heat climbed into Lila’s face.
‘I didn’t say decorated,’ she said quietly.
Ms. Vance looked almost pleased. ‘But that is what you want everyone to imagine, isn’t it?’
‘No. I wrote what he does.’
‘Your father has never come to parents’ evening. Never attended sports day. Never collected you from school. I have taught you for eight months, Lila, and this heroic sea captain has not appeared once.’
‘He’s been away.’
‘Convenient.’
The word landed like a slap.
Theo Ashford, who sat across from Lila, frowned. ‘Miss, maybe he is away.’
‘Theo, this does not concern you.’
Lila opened her pencil case. Her fingers found the brass button. She placed it on the desk.
‘He gave me this,’ she said. ‘It came from his coat.’
Ms. Vance lowered her eyes to the button. The anchor glinted dully under the classroom lights.
For one second, Lila thought the proof might be enough.
Ms. Vance’s face hardened.
‘People buy military trinkets at markets.’
‘It isn’t a trinket.’
‘Lila.’ The teacher’s voice sharpened. ‘This morning is about respect. We will not have you inventing a grand father because you feel embarrassed by your actual circumstances.’
The room became too quiet.
Lila could hear the rain ticking against the windows.
‘I’m not embarrassed by Mum,’ she said.
‘I should hope not.’
‘Then why did you say it like that?’
It came out before Lila could stop it.
Ms. Vance’s eyes changed.
The friendliness disappeared, leaving something cold and exposed beneath it.
‘Bring me the card,’ she said.
Lila’s fingers tightened around the edge. ‘Please don’t.’
‘Bring it here.’
Lila did.
Ms. Vance held the card in both hands. For a moment, she simply stared at the words. Then she tore it down
