Marcus clutched the straps of his backpack.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. Now hurry before the cafeteria closes.”
That was how Mr. Lewis lived.
Quietly. Gently. Without applause.
He lived alone in an old trailer outside town. The roof leaked whenever it rained, his truck barely started in winter, and most cold nights, he warmed his hands beside a tiny space heater that rattled like it was giving up.
People called him a loser behind his back.
Principal Vance, a sharp-suited man with a cruel smile, was the loudest of them all. He hated that Mr. Lewis showed up every morning at 5 a.m. with a smile on his face, no matter how little he had.
Years passed. Thousands of children came and went. Mr. Lewis watched them grow taller, graduate, move away, and disappear into lives he would never see.
Then, three weeks before his retirement, Principal Vance cornered him in the empty hallway.
“Lewis,” Vance said, holding out a white envelope. “Pack up your mop bucket.”
Mr. Lewis paused.
“Excuse me, sir?”
“You heard me. You’re done here. Effective immediately.”
He stared at the envelope. “But my pension starts next month. I’ve worked here for nearly 20 years.”
Vance gave him a thin smile. “The school board is restructuring. Your position has been eliminated.”
Mr. Lewis’ hand trembled as he took the envelope. “What am I supposed to do?”
“That’s not my concern.”
Mr. Lewis opened the envelope, and his heart sank.
“This is an eviction notice.”
“Yes,” Vance said smoothly. “The trailer park sits on school-owned land. I found a buyer. A corporate development group. They want the entire property cleared.”
“You can’t do this,” Mr. Lewis whispered. “That trailer is all I have.”
“I just did. You have until midnight tomorrow to vacate.”
“But winter is coming.”
“Then buy a coat.”
Mr. Lewis looked down, his throat tightening. “I don’t have savings for an apartment.”
