The rain started in the middle of the night.
Amy knew because it woke her.
At first, it was only a soft tapping against her window, like someone gently knocking. Then it grew heavier, louder, until it settled into a steady rhythm that filled her room. She lay still beneath her duvet, listening.
Rain always made her think too much.
She rolled onto her side and stared at the notebook on her bedside table.
It hadn't moved.
She hadn't touched it.
Part of her felt relieved.
Part of her felt guilty.
Eventually, exhaustion pulled her back under.
By morning, the sky was the colour of wet concrete.
Again.
Amy trudged downstairs in her oversized hoodie, the one she put on every time she felt like she just needed to be told that everything was going okay and the one she wore that just felt like someone was giving her a big warm hug, hair still damp from a rushed shower. Chloe was already at the table, highlighting something in a textbook with unnecessary aggression. Jamie stood at the counter, spatula in hand, squinting at a pancake like it had personally offended him.
"Morning, disaster chef," Chloe said without looking up.
"It's called artistic cooking," Jamie replied, flipping the pancake far too confidently.
It landed back in the pan with a sad, uneven splat.
Amy almost smiled.
Mrs Carter poured tea into four mismatched mugs.
"Sit, love," she said to Amy. "Before he sets the kitchen on fire."
They ate quietly.
Not awkwardly—just gently. Like everyone was aware something fragile was sitting between them and didn't want to bump it.
Amy pushed her pancake around her plate.
Mrs Carter watched her over the rim of her mug.
"Did you sleep?" she asked.
"A bit," Amy said.
"That's something," Mrs Carter replied.
After breakfast, Chloe and Jamie grabbed their bags and headed upstairs, arguing about whose turn it was to lock the door later. Amy stayed at the table, wrapping her hands around her mug like it might steady her.
Mrs Carter wiped the counter slowly.
Then she said, "Walk with me."
They stepped into the small back garden. The grass was soaked, glittering with rain. The air smelled clean and sharp. A single bird hopped along the fence, shaking water from its feathers.
Mrs Carter leaned against the wooden post.
"Amy," she said gently, "yesterday has stayed with you, didn't it?"
Amy nodded.
"It feels stupid," she said. "Other people deal with worse."
Mrs Carter shook her head immediately.
"No. We're not doing that."
Amy frowned. "Doing what?"
"Measuring your pain against someone else's," Mrs Carter said. "Hurt isn't a competition."
Amy looked down at her trainers, the laces dark with rain.
"I thought writing was the one thing I was good at," she whispered. "And now it feels... shaky."
Mrs Carter was quiet for a moment.
Then she said, "Do you know why I foster?"
Amy looked up, surprised.
"You've never told me."
Miss Carter smiled, not happily.
"Because I grew up believing I was invisible. Teachers didn't notice me. Kids learned I was easy to ignore. So I learned to stay small."
Amy listened, completely still.
"Then one day," Mrs Carter continued, "someone told me I mattered. Just once. And it changed everything."
She met Amy's eyes.
"You matter. With or without applause. With or without perfect words."
Something warm pressed against Amy's chest, tight and unfamiliar.
"But what if I can't do it anymore?" she asked. "What if I've lost it?"
"You haven't," Mrs Carter said softly. "You're just scared. And that makes you human."
They stood there, watching clouds drift slowly overhead.
"I was angry yesterday," Mrs Carter admitted. "I wanted to march into that school."
Amy let out a weak laugh. "You'd scare them."
"Absolutely," she said. "Still might."
They shared a small smile.
From inside the house, Chloe's voice called, "We're going to be late!"
"Coming!" Mrs Carter replied.
Before they went back in, she placed her hands on Amy's shoulders.
"Promise me something," she said.
"What is it?" Amy looked up at Mrs. Carter with a confused look on her face.
"Don't decide your future on your worst day."
Amy thought about the classroom.
The laughter.
The note she never opened.
Then she nodded. "I promise."
The school day passed in a blur.
Amy avoided Kelsey.
Avoided the English room.
Avoided mirrors.
But she didn't avoid Chloe and Jamie.
They walked home together, Jamie complaining about homework, Chloe arguing about music like nothing had broken.
Normal things.
Safe things.
Later, Amy sat on her bed again.
The notebook waited.
This time, she opened it.
Just a little.
She wrote one sentence.
Crossed it out.
Wrote another.
It wasn't good.
It wasn't clever.
But it was hers.
Amy closed the notebook with a careful smile.
Maybe tomorrow, she'll write two.