chapter 10: A final decision

Dennis sat at his desk, the dim glow of his laptop screen casting soft shadows on his nearly empty apartment. The blank document stared back at him, unyielding, as if mocking the hesitation in his heart. He flexed his fingers over the keyboard but couldn't bring himself to type just yet.

Resigning meant leaving behind everything—his students, his colleagues, the familiar hallways he had walked for years. But most of all, it meant leaving behind the memories of Lilian.

He exhaled sharply and straightened his posture. He had already made up his mind. Dragging this out wouldn't change anything.

With steady fingers, he began to type.

> Dear Principal,

I am writing to formally submit my resignation as a teacher at this institution. The past years have been invaluable, filled with growth and meaningful connections, but I believe it is time for me to step away and move in a new direction.

His fingers hesitated at the next sentence. A lump formed in his throat as he realized just how much he was closing a chapter of his life. He swallowed hard and forced himself to continue.

> Thank you for the opportunities and trust you have given me. I will forever be grateful. Please consider this my official notice.

Sincerely,

Dennis Graham.

He read through the letter twice, then printed it. The sound of the paper sliding out of the printer felt deafening in the silent room. He picked it up, signed his name at the bottom, and folded it neatly into an envelope.

It was done.

Dennis placed it on his desk and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. A deep emptiness settled over him, but he forced himself to push it aside. He had more to do.

Packing Up and Letting Go

Over the next few days, Dennis focused on preparing for his departure. He sorted through his belongings, separating what he would take with him from what he needed to sell.

As he packed, his fingers brushed against an old book—one that Lilian had once recommended. He ran his hand over the worn-out cover, memories of quiet moments between them flashing in his mind. A soft chuckle escaped his lips before he exhaled deeply and set the book aside.

One by one, his possessions found new owners. His bookshelf, the chair he used to grade papers, even his favorite coffee table—gone.

His apartment felt emptier with each passing day. The once-familiar space now echoed with the sounds of a life slowly being dismantled.

A few days later, Dennis met Annie at a quiet coffee shop near the school. It wasn't unusual for them to grab coffee together, but today, there was an unspoken heaviness in the air.

After ordering, Annie stirred her drink absently before speaking. "So… how's the moving process going?"

Dennis let out a small sigh. "Slow but steady. I'm selling what I can. Every little bit helps."

Annie studied him for a moment before setting her cup down. "How much have you saved so far?"

Dennis hesitated, then shrugged. "Not enough."

She nodded, as if she had expected that answer. Then, with a tone so casual it almost threw him off, she said, "I'll talk to my husband. We can help."

Dennis blinked. "Annie, I can't—"

"Yes, you can." She cut him off with a firm but gentle voice. "We've talked about it already. We can spare some money, and honestly, I'd rather you have a smooth transition than struggle."

When she mentioned the amount, Dennis felt his breath hitch. His hands clenched slightly, and before he could stop himself, a tear slipped from the corner of his eye.

He turned his head away quickly, but Annie had already seen it. She didn't say anything about it. Instead, she reached out and placed a comforting hand on his wrist.

"You don't have to do this alone, Dennis," she said softly.

He took a shaky breath and gave her a small nod. "Thank you, Annie. Really."

"Don't mention it," she replied with a smile before picking up her coffee again. "Besides, you've helped me through a lot too. Consider it my turn."

A Night of Finality

That night, Dennis sat in his near-empty apartment, the resignation letter still sitting on his desk. The room felt colder, lonelier, but he knew there was no turning back now.

For a brief moment, he considered tearing up the letter. But what good would that do? Lilian had moved on. There was nothing left for him here.

With a steady hand, he picked up the envelope and placed it inside his bag. Tomorrow, he would submit it.

He lay down on his nearly bare mattress, staring at the ceiling, listening to the silence. The echoes of his past were fading, and all that remained was the unknown future ahead.

And for the first time in a long while, he let himself accept it.

Dennis stood outside Principal Harris' office, gripping the envelope tightly. His pulse drummed in his ears.

Just go in. Hand it over. Walk away.

Taking a breath, he knocked.

"Come in," came the firm but familiar voice.

Dennis pushed open the door and stepped inside. Harris sat behind his desk, going through paperwork, but when he looked up and saw Dennis, his brow furrowed.

"Dennis?"

Dennis swallowed hard and walked forward. "Good morning, sir."

Harris gestured to the chair in front of him. "Sit."

Instead, Dennis reached into his bag and carefully pulled out the envelope. He placed it on the desk.

Harris eyed it, then looked up at him. "What is this?"

Dennis kept his voice steady. "My resignation letter."

Silence.

The principal didn't touch the envelope. He only leaned back in his chair, studying Dennis with quiet intensity.

"You're one of my best teachers. Why?"

Dennis felt the lump in his throat tighten. "I just… need a change."

Harris tapped a finger against the desk, his expression unreadable. "This wouldn't have anything to do with Lilian, would it?"

Dennis stiffened. He should have expected the question.

"I just don't think I belong here anymore," he said carefully.

Harris sighed, finally picking up the envelope. He turned it over in his hands but didn't open it. "Dennis, I've been in this profession for a long time. And I've seen people leave for the right reasons… and the wrong ones."

Dennis clenched his fists. "And which one do you think this is?"

"I think you're trying to outrun something that will follow you no matter where you go."

Dennis looked away. Maybe he's right. But what choice do I have?

"Do you think leaving will help?" Harris pressed.

Dennis hesitated. Then, finally, he muttered, "I don't know. But staying here… it hurts."

Harris nodded slowly. "I won't pretend to know exactly what you're going through. But I do know this—leaving doesn't erase the past."

Dennis let out a hollow chuckle. "Then what does?"

Harris leaned forward, his voice softer now. "Time. And facing it, not running from it."

Dennis exhaled, rubbing his temple. He had expected resistance, but not this level of understanding.

Harris placed the envelope on his desk but didn't open it. "I'm not accepting this today."

Dennis blinked. "Sir—"

"Take a few days. Think about it. If you still want to resign, I'll process it. But don't do it because of regret or pain. Do it because it's truly what's best for you."

Dennis didn't know what to say.

After a moment, he nodded. "Alright."

He turned to leave, but just as he reached the door, Harris spoke again.

"Dennis."

Dennis paused.

"Sometimes, moving on isn't about leaving. It's about learning to stay."

Dennis didn't turn around. He just gave a small nod and walked out, the weight in his chest as heavy as ever.