I’m upset about what happened with Mr. Welch and his ex-wife.

There were such clear lessons in this story. Mr. Welch tries to cheat on his wife, and she kicks him out. I assumed she kicked him out. I didn’t know. It was my fantasy. (Obviously, they weren’t meant for each other. Right? He was meant for me! Joking. Not.) All I knew was that when Mr. Welch was scrambling to find a place to live, I got my parents to rent him our garden apartment at a reduced rate. Meaning: for free.

He moved in on the first of August, the same day Mrs. Welch took their boys out of state for a two-week vacation. At night I could put my head up to the radiator and hear Mr. Welch’s muffled crying.

Now that he’s back at Montague, kids ask me what it’s like having a teacher living in the same house. I say, “He’s a tenant, and he’s in the basement with his own entrance.” I don’t explain that having him under the same roof feels right.

I see Mrs. Welch sometimes, although I don’t know if I’m supposed to call her Mrs. Welch anymore. She got a new apartment. She tries to put on a good face in her new job at the Public Library. But she doesn’t look the same. Tired. Worn out from it all.

Truth is, I don’t know what to think. I don’t understand people! Next year I go to college, and I’m more confused than ever!

I’m sorry for that outburst. I’m . . . I’m having a hard time . . . oh God.

You see, this morning my dad told me that Mr. Welch said he would be moving out soon.

I didn’t see it coming. “Where’s he going?” I said, in a panic. “Where?”

“I didn’t ask,” my dad said. “I don’t think it’s our business.”

So I made it my business.

I waited until he left the house, and I followed him. I kept my distance, but I didn’t let him out of my sight. He didn’t walk toward the Heights, as usual. Instead, he went the opposite direction, through Cobble Hill, deep into Carroll Gardens. As he walked, I saw him in a new way. Or maybe he was always small and I just never noticed.

When he disappeared around a chain-link fence, I waited a bit before crossing the street. Here’s where I saw the most baffling sight in the short history of my life.

Mr. Welch was sitting on a bench talking to a woman whose face I could not see. I pressed up to the fence to get a closer look. The woman was Mrs. Welch. What were they doing? This is where it gets hard and confusing. He was saying something, she was laughing, and they were holding hands.