I still think about it. All the time. Those damn standardized tests. Everyone acted like they were the measure of a child's worth, the school's worth, my worth as a teacher. It was all a complete load of bollocks, of course. But the funding. That was real. The money for the art program, the music teacher, the field trips that actually *meant* something to those kids — all tied to how well a bunch of seven-year-olds could fill in bubbles on a sheet of paper. And half of them were barely getting enough to eat at home, let alone sleeping through the night. How was that fair? How was I supposed to stand there and watch good programs disappear because a few kids were struggling? Because their home lives were a mess, and no amount of flashcards was going to fix that. So yeah, I gave them hints. Not obvious, never obvious. A cough at the right moment, a slight tap on a particular line, a lingering glance at a multiple-choice option. Subtle. So subtle only a child desperate for an answer would even notice. And they did. Oh, they did. Their little faces, when they finally *got* it. The relief. The little flicker of pride in their eyes. It wasn't about cheating, not really. It was about giving them a chance. A chance at keeping their school from falling apart, a chance at not being written off before they even started. And it worked. The scores went up. The funding came through. The art teacher stayed, the music lessons continued. I saw those kids thrive, saw their parents beam with pride at the awards ceremonies. And I knew, deep down, that I'd done something good. Something important. But the secret eats at me. Decades later, and it's still there. The academic integrity. The very thing I preached, the very thing I believed in. I compromised it. For the greater good, I told myself then. For those children. For the school. And I still believe it, goddammit. I still believe I did the right thing. But the stain of it, the quiet little whisper of deceit, never really goes away. Especially now. Sitting here, watching my own mother struggle with her words, needing my help with everything. Her life, her care, completely dependent on me. And I just... I just keep thinking about all the times I had to make choices that nobody else saw. Choices that felt right, but left a bitter taste. The things we do to keep things afloat. The things we sacrifice. And no one ever knows. No one ever truly sees.