The Hundred Roses Weren’t From Another Man—They Were From the Children Jane Had Quietly Changed
The note began, “Mrs. Jane, you always told us nobody should feel invisible. These roses are from one hundred people who never forgot you.” Beneath it were dozens of names—current students, former students, and parents. Jane finally sat down on the porch and started crying. Then she told me what she had been hiding for months. After nearly fifteen years of teaching, she had decided to leave at the end of the school year. The constant pressure, late nights, and feeling that she was never doing enough had worn her down. She hadn’t told me because she was ashamed of quitting something she had once loved.
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