The Broken Ones by Sarah A. Denzil

orange juice or squash. I write him a note in the margin reminding him to take pride in his work.
    Chloe hasn’t completed the assignment. Instead, she’s drawn a girl in her book. I examine the girl and wonder if it’s Jessie, her imaginary friend. It’s hard to work out, because the illustration resembles Chloe herself. They both have long hair pulled into a ponytail. The girl in the drawing wears a skirt similar to the one Chloe is wearing now and has a rucksack the same shape.
    There’s a tug at my stomach. I want to help this child. But are my desires to help her selfless or selfish? Am I projecting onto this young girl because all I’ve ever wanted is a daughter? I’ve longed to read to a child, to teach her how to spell, to go on walks into the countryside and point out beautiful flowers.
    The ticking time bomb of that sexist metaphor the “biological clock” has slowed right down. It’s time to accept that motherhood will probably never happen for me. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe that’s what was supposed to happen.
    I switch up the volume. Still nothing. Only fifteen minutes to go until break. Noah wants to use the bathroom now. I roll my eyes and nod. I move onto the next exercise book.
    And then I hear it.
    “What are you doing here?”
    The sound makes me jolt. I quickly turn down the volume a few bars. Some of the kids turn to stare at me, so I put my head down and pretend to mark.
    The voice is my mother’s. But who is she speaking to?
    “Tell me what you’re doing here. I want to know.”
    There’s a pause, a long, agonising, pregnant pause. Silence.
    “I… I…” Mum stutters. “I know you…”
    The thud of my heart is almost audible. The nerves and anticipation feel like bugs crawling under my skin. There’s a creeping feeling of nausea rising from the pit of my stomach. I want an answer, and yet I don’t want an answer. My fingers hover over the mousepad, trembling. I can’t breathe.
    “ You will know me. ”
    A scream rips from my body.

     

Chapter Nine
     
     
    Alisha bursts into the classroom. There are children crying on the back row. Noah stares at me with his jaw dropped. My fingers grip the seat of my chair, and I attempt to suck in deep breaths that rasp through my lungs. Alisha runs towards me, blurry and frantic. I try to tell her about the upset children, but I’m paralysed by the beating of my heart. It’s so loud I think it might burst.
    “It’s on the recording.” I finally find my voice. “It’s on the recording.”
    Alisha lifts one of my arms, examines me. “Are you hurt? What’s wrong? Breathe, Sophie, breathe.”
    I can barely hear her over the voice in my head. You will know me. You will know me. That harsh whisper sets my teeth on edge. My heart pounds against my ribs, threatening to come out of my chest, burst forth and escape. I wouldn’t blame it. I would jump ship too if I was part of this broken woman. I’m a mess. A complete and utter mess.
    “It’s all right, children. Miss Howland isn’t feeling well right now. You can go into my classroom if you like. Go on, that’s right.” Alisha’s hair brushes over my hand when she leans down to me. “Jesus, Sophie, come on. Pull yourself together. You’re at school, teaching children.” She pats my hand.
    I feel sick.
     
    *
     
    Moira sends me home, citing exhaustion. They wanted to call an ambulance but I wouldn’t let them. No, I need to get home. I need to see that room, to imagine the voice again, to feel what’s real and what’s not. And I need to make sure Mum and Erin are safe.
    I have no idea who was in the room with Mum. The voice is so low and hoarse that it could be male or female. On the way home in the car, I put my laptop on the passenger seat and listen to it again. After the whisper, Mum makes a few whimpering sounds, but then seems to ease back into sleep. I wonder if she even remembers it.
    You will know me.
    You will know me .
    I keep playing it over and over in my