The grab

CW: Physical violence, sexual assault

My life couldn't be better. I had a beautiful family and a successful career, for which, at last, I would be recognized among my peers —something I'd been working on for years and, without any doubt, something I felt proud of. I had been teaching science in several high schools for a decade when one of my research projects finally caught the attention of the Ministry of Education and, to the surprise of many, I qualified for a national grant competition. In case I won, the award could secure me enough funds to support my work and help many of my students. Teaching in one of the poorest areas of the country, where parents were more concerned about the labor needed around fields and animals than their kids' grades, didn't make my work easy. It was a challenge I had accepted and embraced.

I had been commuting to random little villages all those years, places that seemed to have been kept away from the modern way of life. Many of my students liked that, probably because they hadn't seen anything else, but a few others were so desperate to leave as I was when I was their age. Those were the ones that inspired me to drive too early in the morning and late at night, neglecting playtime with my kids more than I feel proud to admit, so I could grade homework and prepare classes. Despite the difficulties, I felt so good about my choices: finally, someone had seen me for what I'd done and achieved, and there was no way that I would apologize for any sacrifice I had made on my path to victory.

It took me weeks to convince my husband I would attend the event alone. He wasn't worried about me; he was just concerned about having to cook and take care of the kids alone for a couple of days. He was so used to having my invisible touch around the house that I'm sure he felt everything would catch fire the single minute I was out the door. My kids complained as well, but when their father told them they could order whatever fast food they wanted for dinner, the crisis was quickly averted. That's the power of a Happy Meal and a cheap plastic toy.

The day of the event arrived, and I took a train alone to the city. I had never done such a thing, traveling for work to a place where I had no classes to teach. For me, there were either work commutes or family holidays. Always by car, never by train or plane, because my husband always said trains were slow and full of people and planes were a death trap. My commutes to work were hours full of podcasts and language courses, but the holidays were something else. In summer, I joined forces with my husband to drive towards the same apartments every year, my parents' and his. I had never cared much about that reality, about all those years visiting the same people and the same places, but I cannot deny that when I received the invitation for the awards event, which included a one-night stay in a fancy hotel, my heart skipped a beat or two.

I didn't care about being surrounded by strangers. I enjoyed reading a book as the landscape changed outside. It felt easy, and that's not something I'm used to saying, because things had never been like that, not growing up, not as an adult. There I was, finally feeling seen and truly appreciated for my work, the thing I'd dedicated so much of my life to.

A few hours later, I arrived in the big city and took a taxi to my hotel, a modern brick and glass building. I checked in and walked to my room, wondering if I would ever have the opportunity to spend a romantic evening with my husband in such a kind of place. Having kids was a blessing, but I couldn't remember the last time I had had a proper adult night, with good clothes, good restaurant food, drinks, and a proper session of laughs and sex. I missed sex and laughs, but mostly sex, the one you can't have because your kids like to sleep in your bed and your husband keeps forgetting to install a lock on the bedroom door.

The room's view was a sea of tall buildings, very different from the one I had from any of my home windows. I'd never lived in a big city. I'd moved from a mid-size town to a village because that's where we could buy something big enough to create a life with the family we planned to have, so I stayed there, in front of that wall-to-wall window, staring at the panorama and thinking what I would say in case I won the grant that night. I'd tried to write a little speech, but I convinced myself it would jinx the whole thing, so now I had only a blur of ideas spinning in my head.

I got dressed. I had bought a mid-length dress at Zara, not too expensive, not too revealing, and somewhat formal. I didn't love it, but that was good enough for the purpose. I put on my mid-heel shoes, black as well, and let my curls fall free over my shoulders. I always liked my hair, although it had started to feel thinner in the previous years. I looked at the mirror and thought it was enough. No one would care about my looks, but my achievements. I was about to be surrounded by professionals. Those would not care about my weight excess or absence of makeup.

The ceremony would take place in one of the hotel's event rooms, so I followed the instructions and took the elevator to the meeting point described in the invitation. When the doors opened, I saw the crowd. So many people, so many men. Where were the women?

I walked towards the identification table and grabbed a tag where I read my name and the name of the school I worked for. I pinned it to my dress and moved to the bar area, looking for something that could make me swallow the knot I was starting to feel in my throat.

"You're here with your husband? We don't usually bring plus ones to these kinds of events."

I turned and saw a man a head taller than me. He was wearing a grey suit with a white t-shirt and white pristine sneakers, and I couldn't help thinking that he seemed too old to pull out that look. I smiled at him and kept looking for women around, but there were none.

"Hi. No. No husband today, just me," I chuckled, and for some reason, I felt bad about myself in the very moment I said it.

"So, you work in the hotel?" he replied.

He looked me up and down, as if he were scanning me, which made me really uncomfortable. I pointed at my tag.

"I'm here for the event. I was nominated for the Science Teaching Grant."

"The STG? You?"

I had no time to reply. Someone started calling people around:

"Time for the photograph! Please, everyone, nominees and jury, place yourselves in there!" he said, pointing at the massive screen in the back of the room, where a stand had been placed, the one I would eventually have to walk to. The one I would have to say my speech from in case I won.

There were around a hundred people in that room, and most of us walked to the place we'd been told to. The man in the grey suit placed himself behind me, and I heard someone tell him how impressive it was to have such a diverse group of people that year. This seemed funny to me because there were only middle-aged white men and me in that room, but I said nothing.

The photographer instructed me to walk to the front line, and so I did.

"Smile!" he said a couple of times, as he took a few pictures of the group.

When the photo op was over and we were allowed to disband, I felt a hand grab my bottom, squeezing it so much that it hurt. I didn't even think about what I did after that. I turned around as I closed my fist, and I threw a punch up that quickly hit its target: the grey-suited man's nose.

He stambled, took a couple of steps back, with a surprised look on his face, and as soon as the blood started to run out of his nose, he collapsed on the floor.

Someone screamed. I didn't move.

"Who's she?" someone yelled.

"What did you do?" someone else continued.

"Did anyone else see that?" I yelled, pointing at the man on the floor and rubbing my bottom. A bunch of people stared at me, and a few others ran to help their fallen mate.

He was bleeding and looking around like he was trying to decipher on which planet he had landed. His white t-shirt, impeccably ironed, was now full of bright red spots, and his nose looked like the one Rudolph the reindeer could have after a bar fight. But there had been no fight, just a single punch from my side, one of those I'd seen so many times on television as a child, when my brothers insisted on watching boxing matches instead of letting me watch cartoons. They would be proud of me, I thought, staring at my right hand, as it turned blue and started to hurt like Hell.

"Oh, my God! What happened here?" I heard behind me, and I saw a woman —finally —walking fast across the crowd around us.

"He grabbed me," I said, and she looked me up and down, which once more made me feel weird.

"He's the commission's president, he would never... who are you?"

"My name is Penelope," I replied, and, as those words left my mouth, I knew my life had changed forever.