Episode 19: The Parent Who Thought They Knew Everything

The parent-teacher meeting room smells faintly of overconfidence and overpriced vanilla candles.

Mr. Flannigan, a man who apparently believes he can micro-manage the universe through sheer opinion, is mid-rant before I even arrive.

“They simply cannot learn responsibility if you allow—”

I settle into my chair, black blazer unbuttoned, leather skirt sleek, boots clicking lightly on the polished floor. My dangling spider earrings glint as I tilt my head ever so slightly.

“I’m listening,” I say softly, deliberately calm.

He sputters. “…They cannot excel without guidance from home!”

I let a small smirk curve behind my carefully applied black lipstick. “…Are you suggesting you are the arbiter of intellect? Or merely the loudest voice in a room full of fools?”

He flushes. “…I—well—”

I let the silence stretch. The weight of observation settles over the room like a fine fog.

“…I cultivate minds, sir,” I continue, voice even, precise. “I do not raise children. Outside these walls, you may attempt what you will. Inside, your opinions are… irrelevant.”

Mr. Flannigan opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens again. Nothing comes out. His hubris is spectacular, and I sip my herbal tea, savoring the tiny thrill of ironic justice.

By the end of the conversation, he stammers, apologizes, and retreats. I remain. Calm. Untouched.

And as I leave the meeting room, I think quietly: humans—predictably, endlessly—never learn.