Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110351 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110351 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
The sentiment is familiar, and one can only imagine how difficult it must be to adjust to such a shift in attention, even if her contributions to her field are far less publicised than Santiago’s stellar career.
I’m reading my own words, but they don’t feel like mine.
They feel distorted. Twisted out of context.
I didn’t speak with frustration laced in my voice. Did I?
No. I didn’t. I know that I didn’t.
And I wasn’t complaining - at least, I didn’t mean to! I was just explaining how hard it was to balance two completely different worlds, the world of teaching that I loved and the world of fame that I never asked for.
I was just trying to be honest, to be real. To explain that my work matters to me.
But that doesn’t - and shouldn’t - make me Santi’s whiney, unappreciative girlfriend.
The teacher, who has been an educator for over three years, is currently trying to make her mark in the education world.
But as Bennett herself points out, 'It’s hard to be seen for what you are when all the media cares about is who you’re dating.’
My chest tightens in the worst way at the realisation that this has all gone terribly wrong.
I try to keep reading, hoping it gets better, hoping there’s something in this article that redeems what I said; but I know from the tone of the article that it’s just not coming.
Still, the article goes on, recounting my personal struggles in a way that feels entirely fabricated.
It’s as if they’ve taken my attempt to explain and molded it into something they can sell to the public: the story of a woman who is only ever seen in relation to the man she’s with, who can’t even define herself outside of his name.
Just as I’m about to give up, my eyes fall on the next line.
Sources close to the couple confirmed that Olivia’s summer programme will be taking place at Colegio de la Paz, a small secondary school located in the heart of Valencia. The school’s involvement adds another layer of prestige to the programme, as Bennett works alongside local organisations to bring about change in the educational sector.
My stomach lurches as I read the words.
My school. They named my school.
After promising that they wouldn’t - after Javier looked me in the eye and gave me his word that my school, my colleagues, my students would be kept anonymous in all of this…
My eyes scan the sentence over and over again, hoping it will change.
As if I can somehow undo what has already been done.
The words blur before me, but they’re clear enough. It’s my school - the place where I’ve poured my heart and soul over these past few months - and now it’s part of a story I never agreed to.
My students, my work, my future… they’re all suddenly tangled up in this narrative of my relationship with Santi. A relationship that’s not just mine anymore, but now a part of the public spectacle.
I never wanted this. I never asked for any of it. The reality of my career, my purpose, my identity is being twisted into something else entirely - something I don’t recognize.
My school. My students. My calling.
They don’t belong here. They don’t deserve this.
Oh, god.
How will they see me now? I can almost feel the weight of my students’ eyes on me, their whispers turning into stares.
What will my colleagues think when they read this? When they see my life exposed in a way that’s not just about who I am, but about who I’m dating?
I never wanted any of them to be involved in this circus. The school community that I’ve worked so hard to be a part of is now part of something that I can't control.
Are they all going to hate me? Ostracise me?
What if they fire me?
I can’t breathe. My chest tightens as my mind spins, racing with a thousand thoughts, none of which make any sense. I feel dizzy, like I’ve lost all balance when I thought I had a firm grip.
This isn’t me, I want to scream, but I don’t know who I’m even saying that to anymore.
Not to the world. Not to the press.
Certainly not to the headlines that have reduced me to something I’m not.
But here I am.
I feel a sharp, overwhelming sense of claustrophobia, as if the walls of my apartment are closing in around me, tightening with every breath I take. The air feels thick, suffocating.
This is it. This is the moment when everything changes.
When my life is no longer mine.
I want to run. I want to hide from it all, to pretend none of it is happening. But the truth is, it is happening.
And I don’t know how to stop it.
Chapter Thirty-One
My apartment is quiet. Almost eerily so.
My phone lies untouched on the kitchen counter. I haven’t been able to go near it since I first read the article around an hour or so ago and left a voicemail with the school to say that I wouldn’t be working today.