I have my court date on the fourteenth of next month, and if the judge doesn’t show some mercy, I might actually go to jail at sixty-seven years old.

I taught third grade in this town for thirty-four years before I retired.

I never had so much as a speeding ticket to my name, mind you.

But today I am facing a felony charge for custodial interference, all because of a sweet little boy named Toby and a box of Kraft mac and cheese.

Toby came into my class back in August. He was one of those quiet kids who just wants to please everybody.

He had these big, round eyes and always wore shirts that were a couple of sizes too big. I used to keep a jar of animal crackers on my desk, and Toby would always ask so politely if he could have just one.

He was a sweet boy, bless his heart.

The trouble started in October. It was a warm Tuesday, and Toby came in wearing a heavy turtleneck sweater.

I asked him if he was hot, and he just looked down at his desk. He wouldn’t look at me.

Later on, during reading group, his collar slipped down. There was a dark purple bruise shaped exactly like a hand wrapped around his small neck.

I went straight to the principal, and we called Child Protective Services right then and there. A caseworker went to the house, but they closed the file three days later.

“He fell playing tag,” the caseworker told me.

I knew that was a lie, but my hands were tied. I had to just go back to teaching my class and pretend everything was fine.

Then came November. Toby walked in on a Monday morning with a black eye that was swollen shut.

I called the hotline again immediately. I was so upset my hands were shaking on the phone.

“He ran into a door,” the woman on the phone told me.

“We talked to the parents,” she said.

I told her an eight-year-old doesn’t get a bruise like that from a bedroom door. But they closed that case too, and there was nothing I could do.

After that, it just kept getting worse. I started noticing other things that kept me up at night.

There were little round marks on the back of his hands that looked exactly like cigarette burns. One day he was limping, and when I asked him about it, he just started crying.

The worst part was when he got a perfect score on his spelling test. I smiled and raised my hand to give him a high-five.

Toby didn’t smile back. He instantly ducked his head and threw his arms up over his face.

He was expecting a blow. I had to go to the teacher’s restroom and cry for five minutes after that because it was just too much to bear.