He burst through the front door with a gun. We slipped out the back door with my stack of uncorrected essays and favorite mug. He could keep everything–the house, car, his own version of events to tell friends and family. All she needed was me and the baby she claimed was ours.
From across the street we heard an angry scream, a shot, then an explosion.
She said, “I stuffed the bed, locked the door, ran the gas.”
“Because you hate administrators?”
“Because I always win.”
“Not this time.” I said. “This time you’re mine.”
She kissed my mouth. “Crazy teacher! I love you!”