My phone buzzed against the hard laminate of my desk. It was a specific vibration pattern—two short, one long—that I had conditioned myself to dread. It was the summons of the Carter Family WhatsApp group.
It was Tuesday morning. Outside the window of my third-grade classroom, the sky was a bruised purple, threatening rain, but inside, the air smelled of chalk dust and the faint, sweet scent of the vanilla air freshener I bought with my own money. I was grading spelling tests, marking a smiley face next to a struggling student’s first perfect score. I felt a swell of genuine, quiet pride.
Then the phone buzzed again. And again.
I flipped it over. The screen lit up, piercing the calm.
Linda (Mom): Michael, darling, make sure you wear that new Rolex to dinner on Sunday. It looks so powerful. The photographer needs to see the success.
Michael: Of course, Mom. The Platinum Day-Date. It sends the right message to the partners.
