He jabbed a pudgy finger in my niece’s direction, announcing, “Mom! That’s the cursed girl from my class!”
“I heard she doesn’t have a mom or dad—she’s an orphan!” he added in a mocking tone.
“She threw a birthday party and insisted her parents come. Guess what?” He snickered. “They died in a car crash on the way!”
As if that weren’t enough, that boy boasted, “No one’s more stupid than her! I pulled her braids and tossed her textbooks in the trash, and she didn’t even dare tell the teacher!”
His laughter grew louder the more he spoke. At some point, he suddenly charged forward and kicked my niece.
“Cursed orphan! How dare you steal my mom’s parking spot? I’ll beat you to death!”
The kick caught my niece completely off guard. His little foot landed right on her chest, sending her tumbling backward to the pavement. Her palms scraped against the rough concrete, bleeding where the skin had been torn.
In that instant, my rage exploded. Without thinking, I shot up and shoved the boy hard.
“Where the hell did this spoiled brat come from? Does no one teach you manners?”
He fell flat on his butt and immediately let out an ear-piercing wail.
Seeing her precious son on the pavement, Lacey practically lost her mind. She scooped him up in a frenzy and glared at me like she wanted to skin me alive.
“You filthy bitch! You dare lay a hand on my son? Do you want to die?!”
From the corner of her eye, she spotted a security guard jogging in our direction. Her expression sharpened instantly.
She barked at him, “Hold her down!”
Apparently, the security guard clearly knew Lacey—and her status.
Without hesitation, he rushed over, grabbed my shoulder, and yanked my hair back so hard my scalp burned.
My head was forced up at a painful angle.
In the chaos, my phone slipped from my hand and clattered to the pavement a few feet away.
Meanwhile, Lacey strutted toward me in her ten-centimeter stilettos, a mocking smirk playing on her heavily made-up face.
Before I could dodge, she had already slapped me across the face twice!
“Bitch! You think you can take my parking spot and push my son?” she hissed. “Do you even know who I am? I’ll make sure you and that little orphan won’t walk out of this school alive!”
Just then, a car pulled up beside us. Out stepped my niece’s homeroom teacher—Miss Perkins.
She looked to be in her forties, dressed in a formal dress and heels. As soon as she saw Lacey, she rushed toward her, looking concerned.
“Secretary Madigan! Are you alright?” she asked breathlessly. Then she turned to the crying boy. “Oh, Duke, sweetheart, tell me—who pushed you?”
She asked them as if she hadn’t seen a thing that had just happened to me and my niece.
Lacey crossed her arms smugly. “That bitch tried to take my parking spot! I taught her a lesson.”
At her words, Miss Perkins’s face immediately hardened. She stepped beside Lacey like they were on the same team.
“Ma’am, I have to say, what you did was totally inappropriate,” she commented, towering over me. “As an adult, you should be setting a good example for Noreen, not causing a scene!”
Then, more forcefully, she added, “You should apologize to Secretary Madigan immediately. Let her calm down, give up the spot, and we’ll consider the matter settled.”
At that, Noreen—still trembling—tried to speak up for me through her tears.
“That woman’s not explaining what really happened! She didn’t have a parking spot, so she smashed my aunt’s car!”
Instead of hearing her out, Miss Perkins’s expression shifted. Her brows creased but not with concern.
“Noreen, lying is a very bad habit,” she scolded.
Then, folding her arms across her chest, she added with a disapproving shake of her head, “Teachers don’t like students who lie.”
My niece froze, stunned. Her little eyes filled with tears and confusion. Her face was pale with humiliation.
‘Is this how a teacher acts?’ I thought bitterly, glaring at the homeroom teacher.
‘Not even the most basic attempt at hearing both sides?’ I seethed, my jaw tightening as I fought the urge to shout. ‘Just calling my niece a liar?!’
I sneered inwardly. ‘Is this blind favoritism and shameless bootlicking?’
I clenched my fists, fury rising with every throb in my slapped cheeks.
Through gritted teeth, I shouted at her, “My niece isn’t lying! You, as a teacher, should be fair—not kiss up to the rich and trample others!”
“You want me to apologize?” I scoffed. “Dream on!”
Before they could react, I spat at their feet.
The so-called teacher’s expression twisted as if she’d been personally insulted. She quickly masked it with an air of fake professionalism and spoke to me stiffly.
“Ma’am, I’m only asking you to apologize for your own good.”
