Page 100 of The Humiliated Wife

"They're moving!" he gasped. "Miss Fiona, they're actually swimming around in there!"

The rest of the class pressed closer, everyone wanting their turn. Fiona had to institute a timer system to make sure everyone got a chance, and even then she had to promise they could do this again tomorrow.

By the end of the period, her students were sketching what they'd seen, making up names for the creatures, asking if they could take pond water samples from their own backyards.

As they packed up their notebooks and pencils, chattering about paramecia and whether pond scum was actually alive, Fiona felt a tightness in her chest that had nothing to do with stress.

Gratitude. Pure, overwhelming gratitude.

Whoever had sent that donation had given her students something precious.

The chance to be amazed. The tools to discover. The materials to learn properly instead of just making do.

Fiona looked down at the microscope, still humming softly on the table, and whispered, "Thank you."

She didn't know who she was thanking.

But she meant it with her whole heart.

Fiona satcross-legged on Emma's guest bed, laptop balanced on a pillow, scrolling through the comments on her latest post.

She'd posted a photo from today's science lesson—not of her students, never that, but of the microscope setup afterward. Clean slides, the pond water sample, her hastily scribbled notes about paramecia behavior. The caption had poured out of her in a rush of gratitude:

Sometimes the universe sends exactly what you need, exactly when you need it. My students got to see invisible worlds today—tiny creatures swimming in pond water, life happening at a scale we never notice. Their faces when they realized these organisms were ALIVE, moving, thriving... pure magic.

Teaching with adequate supplies feels like a luxury I'd forgotten was possible. To the anonymous donor who made today happen: you gave 23 kids the gift of wonder. That's everything.

The likes were climbing past her usual numbers—already over 200, more than she'd ever gotten before. But it was the comments that made her throat tight with emotion:

Thank you for reminding me why education matters

I'm a former teacher and this brought back all the feels. Those moments of discovery are EVERYTHING

Just donated to my local school district because of this post

That last comment made her stop scrolling. Someone had been inspired to donate because of her words?

She kept reading:

My daughter had a teacher like you. Changed her whole relationship with learning

The way you describe your students... they're so lucky to have you

This made me remember my 5th grade teacher who made me feel smart for the first time

Fiona wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

She thought about @shitfionasays, about how those strangers had mocked her earnestness, her belief that small kindnesses could change the world. They'd laughed at her.

But these people—these comments—they understood. They saw the same beauty she did. The same importance in tiny victories and wonder-filled classrooms.

When had she become someone whose words moved people? When had her small voice started mattering to strangers who didn't even know her name?

Her phone buzzed with a notification. Another new follower. Then another.

She was helping people feel less alone in caring about things that mattered. In believing that kindness was strength, not weakness. In finding joy in small moments.

Maybe Dean had been right about one thing—she did have something worth sharing with the world.