Boy cries with pain DOWN THERE. “I can’t sit, teacher, it hurts” Then she finds out what his dad did

Sums and fractions covered the chalkboard when Ms. Wilson turned from the board and scanned the room with her usual gentle vigilance. Twenty-four small faces—some intent, some drifting—met her eyes. One face, though, snagged her attention and wouldn’t let go.

Ethan. Ten years old. Bright, kind, unfailingly polite.

And standing.

Two full hours into class, he still hadn’t sat down. He stood beside his desk, pencil moving neatly across his notebook, posture ramrod straight as if the chair beside him simply did not exist.

“Ethan, sweetheart,” Ms. Wilson said, soft enough not to invite a chorus of giggles, “why don’t you take a seat? It’ll be easier to write.”

He glanced up and tried a smile that couldn’t quite find his eyes. “I’m fine, Miss Wilson. I’d rather stand. I’m more comfortable like this.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, tilting her head. “Sitting helps you support the notebook.”

“I’m sure. Promise.”

A ripple of puzzled looks passed between nearby kids. No one preferred to stand through math. Still, he was focused, he was working, and he wasn’t disturbing anyone. She decided not to press—yet.

When the bell rang, she drifted to his desk. “Heading home?”

“Yeah. My dad’s waiting.”

“Your dad?” She kept it light. “Your mom usually picks you up.”

He nodded. “She’s out of town. Back in a few days. It’s just me and Dad.”

Ms. Wilson filed that away. Through the window she saw them—boy and father—on the far side of the gate. The man was tall, all angles and shadow, a black jacket zipped to his throat. Severe. Silent. Ethan hurried to him, their hands met, and they disappeared down the sidewalk. Something in the set of the man’s jaw, in the careful, short steps of the boy, pinched the base of her throat.

The next morning, Ethan stood again.

He worked like a model student—eyes bright, answers correct—but never once did he sit. Ms. Wilson chose her moment at recess, ushering him to a quiet corner of the room.

“We can talk right here,” she said. “You can sit if you’d like.”

“I’d rather stand,” he murmured.

She softened her tone. “Sometimes we just want to switch things up, hm? Standing can help you stay awake. But not sitting at all—are you sure everything’s okay?”He stared at his….Read Full Story Here………………