She slowly lowered her right fist, opened her fingers, and flexed her hand once. Then, she adjusted her cardigan, turned around, and walked over to where her leather purse rested on the edge of the mat.
She picked it up, slung the strap over her shoulder, and adjusted her reading glasses back onto the silver chain around her neck.
Marcus Vance dropped to his knees beside Brock’s motionless body, his hands hovering frantically over the fallen coach, too terrified to even touch him.
Wanda walked past the trembling group of students, who parted instantly like the Red Sea, pressing themselves flat against the mirrored walls with wide, terrified eyes. Not one of them dared to make a sound. Not one of them dared to block her path.
She walked to the glass door, pushed it open, and stepped out into the warm, fading North Carolina sunlight.
Ten minutes later, Wanda walked down the quiet sidewalk of Garrison Heights, her left knee giving its familiar, gentle ache with every step.
When she opened the front door of her small house, Elijah was sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly at his math textbook, his shoulders slumped in quiet despair. He looked up as she walked in, noticing her calm expression and the faint red mark on her cheek where Brock had struck her with the money.
Elijah jumped up in alarm, rushing toward her. "Grandma! What happened? Did he hurt you? Should I call the police—?"
Wanda reached into her leather purse, pulled out a thick, neat stack of banded hundred-dollar bills, and tossed it gently onto the kitchen table. It landed with a heavy, satisfying thud beside his textbook.
Elijah stared down at the cash, his eyes widening in total disbelief. "Grandma... what... what is this?"
Wanda walked over to the stove, picked up the kettle, and turned on the burner. She looked over her shoulder at her grandson, a faint, knowing smile touching the corners of her lips.
"Your tuition is paid for the next three years, baby," Wanda said softly, tying her apron around her waist. "And I think your new coach is going to be taking a very long, unexpected vacation."
Elijah stood frozen in the kitchen, staring from the stack of cash to his grandmother’s calm, serene face, slowly realizing that behind the reading glasses and the sweet potato pies lived a legend the world had foolishly forgotten.
Outside, the sun dipped below the horizon of Garrison Heights, casting long, peaceful shadows across the quiet street—where nobody ever looked twice at Wanda Moore, and where nobody ever would again.