She sat there, hugging her stuffed animal, cautiously observing everything.
Laura didn’t pressure her.
He offered her colors.
A notebook.
And time.
After a few minutes, Sofia began to draw.
I watched in silence.
First he drew a house.
Then, a small figure.
Then… other larger figures around.
And then, he drew something else.
A group of children.
One of them pushing the small figure.
Another one laughing.
And in a corner…
A figure standing, looking.
He did not intervene.
I was just watching.
Laura tilted her head slightly.
“Who is this?” he asked softly.
Sofia hesitated.
Then he pointed to the small figure.
“It’s me.”
He pointed at the children.
“They.”
And then…
He pointed to the figure that was just observing.
“And he… is the master.”
I felt a chill run down my spine.
“The teacher doesn’t do anything,” Sofia continued, with a calmness that belied her age. “He says we have to learn to defend ourselves.”
Laura exchanged a glance with me.
He didn’t say anything immediately.
But I understood.
It wasn’t just harassment.
It was abandonment.
That same afternoon, I went straight to school.
I asked to speak with the director.
I didn’t raise my voice.
I didn’t make a scene.
But I didn’t leave without answers either.
I explained what was happening.
I showed the photos of the bruises.
I talked about the drawing.
I spoke of silence.
And for the first time in a long time… someone listened.
The director looked serious.
He promised to investigate.
And this time, I wasn’t going to wait around.
During the following days, Sofia did not return to school.
I took her to the park.
We walk together.
We don’t talk much… but we share more.
And little by little, something began to change.
On the third day, Sofia took my hand without me asking her to.
On the fourth day, he smiled as he watched a dog run after a ball.
On the fifth day…
river.
It wasn’t a loud laugh.
But it was real.
And I felt something inside me being rebuilt.
A week later, the school called me.
