Back in my office, I sat at my desk, staring at the blank report template on my screen.
Words felt inadequate, too clumsy to capture the complexity of the situation.
But I knew I had to try, to find a way to convey the urgency without causing further panic.
As I began typing, my thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knock on the door.
It was Mrs. Carter, the third-grade teacher, her expression a mix of concern and hesitation.
“Do you have a moment?” she asked softly.
I nodded, gesturing for her to come in.
She took a seat across from me, her hands twisting nervously in her lap.
“I wanted to talk about what happened,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her gaze met mine, and I could see the worry etched in her features.
