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“And what is the answer to number seven?” Paul asks, scanning the small classroom.

Three hands shoot up eagerly. He ignores them and looks straight at me.

“Carmen?”

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “I, um…I’m still working on it.”

“Then we’ll come back to you when you’ve had a chance to catch up.”

He launches into the explanation, rattling through the steps so quickly the numbers and symbols blur together in my head. I try to follow, but by the time he reaches the answer, I’m more lost than when he started.

I raise my hand, hoping he’ll slow down and go over it once more, but he looks straight past me and keeps talking.

Slowly, I lower my hand.

Math is the only subject that makes me feel impossibly stupid. No matter how hard I try, the numbers twist and scramble in my head like they’re deliberately trying to humiliate me.

While Paul continues at the front of the room, I slip my phone out under the desk and open the dog camera app.

The little screen shows Fifi curled up in her favorite sunbeam on the living room rug, fast asleep as usual. Seeing her there, safe and content, eases something tight in my chest.

I hate leaving her alone for so long but she mostly just sleeps.

It was a full day today, and class finally ends just before three. I don’t know how kids do this every day. My brain feels completely wrung out.

I hang back while the others file out, clutching my notebook to my chest. I need to speak to Paul. Explain that I really am trying. I just don’t understand.

The old fear creeps in before I can stop it. The same vicious little whisper that kept me from attempting my GED for years.

I’m not smart enough.

“Paul, could I have a quick word?” I ask as he packs his bag.

He doesn’t look up. “You can book a meeting.”

“Oh. Okay.” I shift my notebook against my chest. “How do I do that?”

“Student portal.”

There’s a student portal?

“Right,” I say, forcing a small smile. “Could I just ask one quick question now while⁠—”

“Unfortunately, I’m very busy.” He slings his bag over his shoulder and walks out without another glance, leaving me alone in the empty classroom.

For a moment, I stare at the whiteboard. The messy equations are still scrawled across it. The numbers, letters and symbols might as well be another language.

When I pull into the driveway, I stop short, my foot freezing on the brake. For a second, I honestly think I’m at the wrong house.

My hedge is…smaller. Not neat, exactly. There are a few uneven patches where Levi clearly got carried away, but it no longer swallows half the front yard. I can see the porch again. The windows. The actual shape of the house.

The lawn has been freshly mowed, the flower beds weeded, and the sagging porch steps swept clean. Even the weeds that had been pushing stubbornly through the pavers are gone.

A large pile of trimmed branches and pulled weeds sits stacked on the grass in a surprisingly orderly heap.

And there, balanced halfway up a ladder with only one working arm, is Levi, cleaning out my gutter.

My stomach drops.