“I’m so sorry,” she cried, voice broken and desperate. “I don’t know what came over me. I wasn’t thinking—I just… I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”
I tilted my head slightly, narrowing my eyes as I continued to observe the woman groveling at Amara’s feet. My hands twitched in my lap, and it took every ounce of restraint not to stand, cross the room, wrap my fingers around her neck and fling her out of the office.
Amara remained seated, calm but visibly shaken. Her expression was hard to read, somewhere between disbelief and sorrow. She stared down at the woman with furrowed brows, then slowly uncrossed her legs and leaned forward.
“Why?” she asked. “I just want to understand… why would you do this? I don’t even know you personally. I mean—aside from the fact that you’re my daughter’s teach
