The first day he walked into Westbridge High, the students didn’t see a teacher. They saw a target. A quiet black man in a cheap tie carrying a stack of worn textbooks standing in front of rows of teenagers who smelled weakness the way wolves smell fear. Nice suit, sir. One boy snickered. Goodwill have a sale. His friends laughed.

 Someone threw a crumpled paper. Someone whispered a slur. The new teacher didn’t react. He just set his books down, erased yesterday’s lesson from the board, and calmly wrote his name. Mr. Carter. But when he turned back around, the biggest bully in school, Tyler Briggs, stood inches from him. “Yo, teach?” Tyler smirked, pushing a desk with his knee until it pinned the teacher against the wall.

 “You sure you’re in the right building?” The janitor closets down the hall. Laughter erupted. Everyone expected Mr. Carter to break. or yell or plead. He didn’t. Instead, he looked at Tyler with the kind of steady, icy stare that silenced entire prison blocks. And for the first time, Tyler stepped back. Because behind Mr.

 Carter’s calm eyes, there was something dangerous, a history, a life he’d fought tooth and nail to leave behind. He’d spent 11 years in a maximum security prison. Not as a guard, not as a visitor, but as an inmate. And the kids had no idea that the quiet new teacher they mocked was once the most feared man behind those walls.

 What happened next would change the entire school forever. Stay with me until the end because what Mr. Carter revealed later shocked the students, the staff, and the entire school board. Before we begin, don’t forget to like this video, hit subscribe, and comment where you’re watching from. Now, let’s get started. This isn’t just another story about a teacher facing difficult students.

 This is about a man who walked through hell, clawed his way back to humanity, and found himself standing in front of the one group that could either validate his transformation or destroy everything he’d worked for. Marcus Carter had been out of prison for exactly 18 months when he got the call from Westbridge High. The principal, Mrs. Henderson, was desperate. Three math teachers had quit in the past semester alone.

 The students were out of control. Test scores were plummeting. She needed someone willing to take on the worst classes in the district. What she didn’t know was that Marcus had survived worse than rowdy teenagers. Much worse.

 The morning of his first day, Marcus stood in his small apartment bathroom, adjusting the same tie he’d worn to his parole hearings. His reflection showed a man transformed. Gone were the prison tattoos, covered now by carefully chosen long sleeves. Gone was the hardened expression that had kept him alive for over a decade. In its place was something softer, something hopeful, but the eyes remained the same. They’d seen too much to ever be completely innocent again.

 Marcus had prepared for this moment for months. He’d studied pedagogy, memorized curriculum standards, practiced lesson plans until he could recite them backwards. He believed education was his redemption, his chance to give back to a world he’d taken from for too long. He never expected the world to fight back so viciously.

 Walking through the halls of Westbridge High that first morning, Marcus felt the stairs. Teachers whispered behind their coffee cups. Students sized him up with the casual cruelty of predators evaluating prey. The building itself seemed to radiate hostility from its cracked walls to its flickering fluorescent lights. Mrs. Henderson had warned him about his first period class.

 Advanced algebra, she called it, though the advancement seemed to be in chaos rather than mathematics. 15 students, each one a walking disciplinary file. Tyler Briggs led the pack, a 6’2 quarterback with dead eyes and a smile that promised violence. But Marcus had seen Tyler before, not literally, but spiritually. He’d shared cells with boys like Tyler, young men who used cruelty as armor against a world that had already written them off.

 The difference was that Tyler still had choices, still had time. The classroom fell silent when Marcus entered. Not the respectful silence of students ready to learn, but the predatory quiet of hunters preparing to strike. He could feel their energy, their anticipation. They’d broken teachers before. They were hungry to do it again. Marcus set his materials on the desk with deliberate calm.

 Every movement was measured, controlled. In prison, rushed movements meant weakness. Panic meant death. He’d learned to move like water, smooth and inevitable. The first paper airplane hit his shoulder as he wrote on the board. He didn’t flinch. The second one landed in his hair. Still nothing. By the time the third one struck the back of his head, the class was giggling, emboldened by his apparent passivity. Mr.

 Carter, a girl named Jessica called out, her voice dripping with false sweetness. Did you know there’s paper in your hair? More laughter. Someone made a joke about his shoes. Another student mimicked his walk. Marcus continued writing, his handwriting steady despite the chaos building behind him. This was their game.

 Push the new teacher until he snapped, until he yelled, until he gave them ammunition to get him fired. They’d perfected this routine with three previous teachers. It always worked. But Marcus wasn’t like the other teachers. He’d survived riots that left men dead. He’d endured solitary confinement that drove weaker minds to madness. He’d learned patience in a place where impatience was a fatal flaw.

 When Tyler finally stood up and approached the board, the classroom energy shifted. This was the moment they’d all been waiting for. Their leader was making his move. Tyler’s desk scraping against the floor sounded like nails on a chalkboard. The other students leaned forward in their seats.

 Even the ones who usually slept through class were paying attention now. Yo, teach, Tyler said, his voice carrying the casual arrogance of someone who’d never faced real consequences. You sure you’re in the right building? The janitor closets down the hall. The laughter that followed was hungry, vicious.

 These kids had tasted blood before, and they wanted more. Marcus turned slowly, deliberately. His movements were so controlled they seemed almost mechanical. When his eyes met Tyler’s, something passed between them. Something the other students couldn’t see, but felt in their bones. Tyler’s confident smirk faltered for just a moment.

 In that split second, he glimpsed something in Mr. Carter’s gaze that made his stomach clench with unfamiliar fear. It wasn’t anger or frustration, or the defeated resignation they’d seen in other teachers eyes. It was recognition. The cold, calculating assessment of a man who’d learned to read violence in another person’s posture, who’d survived by knowing exactly how dangerous every situation could become.

 For 11 years, Marcus had lived in a world where respect was earned through strength, where backing down meant becoming prey, where the wrong look at the wrong time could end your life. He’d fought men twice Tyler’s size. He’d faced down killers and drug dealers and gang leaders who would have eaten Tyler alive.

 But he’d also learned something else in those years behind bars. He’d learned that real strength wasn’t about domination. It was about control. About choosing when to fight and when to walk away, about understanding that some battles were worth winning and others were worth losing if it meant saving something more important. Marcus looked at Tyler for exactly 3 seconds.

 Long enough to let the boy see glimpses of the man he used to be. Long enough to plant seeds of doubt. Not long enough to cross the line from teacher to threat. Then he stepped around Tyler, walked to his desk, and sat down. “Tyler Briggs,” he said quietly, his voice carrying clearly through the now silent classroom.

 6’2″, 210 lb, star quarterback. lives on Maple Street with his grandmother since his parents died in a car accident three years ago. Tyler’s face went white. How did this stranger know so much about him? Marcus continued in that same measured tone. Gradepoint average of 2.1. Suspended twice last semester for fighting. Applied for three part-time jobs in the past month.

 Got turned down from all of them. The classroom was dead silent now. Tyler’s bravado crumbled as he realized this wasn’t just some random substitute teacher who’d stumbled into their world unprepared. Scholarship offers from two colleges, Marcus went on, never breaking eye contact. Both rescended after your arrest for vandalism 6 months ago. Now you’re looking at community college if you’re lucky.

 Tyler’s hands clenched into fists. The other students watched, waiting to see if their leader would explode or retreat. This wasn’t how these confrontations usually went. “How do you know all that?” Tyler’s voice cracked slightly, the confident mask slipping. Marcus leaned back in his chair. “Because I’ve been exactly where you are, son. Angry at the world.

Convinced everyone’s against you. Ready to throw away your future because it feels like you don’t have one anyway.” He stood up slowly, his movement still controlled, but somehow less threatening now. The difference is when I was your age, I didn’t have anyone to show me there was another way.

 The bell rang, cutting through the tension like a knife. Students grabbed their bags, but nobody moved toward the door. They were transfixed by this strange new dynamic. This teacher, who somehow knew their ring leader better than they did. Class dismissed, Marcus said simply. Tyler, I’d like a word. The other students filed out reluctantly, whispering among themselves.

 Jessica lingered by the door, straining to hear what would happen next. Even she seemed shaken by how quickly their carefully orchestrated chaos had been diffused when the room was empty, except for Tyler and Marcus. The silence stretched between them like a taut wire.

 “You going to call my grandmother?” Tyler asked, his voice smaller now, more vulnerable. “Should I?” Tyler shrugged, trying to look indifferent. But Marcus could see the fear underneath. He recognized it because he’d worn the same mask at 17. Convinced that not caring was the only way to survive disappointment. Your grandmother raised five kids of her own, then took you in when your parents died.

 Marcus said she works double shifts at the hospital to keep you fed and clothed, and you repay her by getting arrested and failing your classes. Tyler’s jaw tightened. You don’t know nothing about my life. I know more than you think. Marcus walked around his desk, not approaching Tyler, but positioning himself where they could talk as equals rather than adversaries.

 I know what it’s like to lose everything. I know what it’s like to be so angry you can’t see straight. I know what it’s like to make choices that seem smart in the moment, but destroy everything you touch. Something in his voice made Tyler look up. There was pain there. Real pain. Not the fake sympathy adults usually offered.

 “Where’d you teach before here?” Tyler asked. Marcus was quiet for a long moment. “This was the question he’d been dreading. The one that would either build trust or destroy any chance of connection. I didn’t teach anywhere before here,” he said finally. “I got my teaching degree while I was incarcerated.

 Spent 11 years in Riverside Correctional.” Tyler’s eyes went wide. You were in prison. Maximum security. Armed robbery. Assault. I hurt people, Tyler. Good people who didn’t deserve what I did to them. The confession hung in the air between them. Tyler stared at this man who just revealed the kind of secret that could end careers, destroy reputations, shatter carefully constructed new lives.

 Why are you telling me this? Tyler’s voice was barely above a whisper. because you remind me of myself at your age and because I see where this path leads if nobody stops you from walking down it. Marcus pulled out a chair and gestured for Tyler to sit. After a moment’s hesitation, the boy did. I grew up in North Oakland, Marcus began.

 My father left when I was 8. My mother worked three jobs just to keep us in a one-bedroom apartment. I was angry all the time. Angry at my father for leaving. Angry at my mother for never being home. Angry at the world for being so unfair, Tyler shifted in his seat, but didn’t interrupt.

 By 15, I was running with a crew. Small stuff at first, shoplifting, tagging buildings, but anger is like a drug. You need more and more of it to feel anything. Pretty soon, small stuff wasn’t enough. Marcus paused, lost in memories he’d spent years trying to forget. The night everything changed, we were supposed to rob a convenience store. Easy target, we thought.

 Old man behind the counter. Probably wouldn’t even fight back. But things went wrong. They always do when you’re living that life. The owner had a gun. My friend got shot. I got scared and angry, and I did things I can never take back. Tyler was leaning forward now, completely absorbed in the story. Three people went to the hospital that night because of choices I made.

 One of them was a pregnant woman who just wanted to buy diapers for her baby. She still has nightmares, Tyler. 15 years later, and she still can’t go into stores alone because of what I did. The weight of that confession settled over the room like a heavy blanket. So, when I see you pushing desks around, intimidating teachers, thinking you’re some kind of king because you can make people afraid of you, I see myself.

 And I know exactly where that road ends. Tyler was quiet for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was different. younger somehow. “My parents weren’t bad people,” he said. “They were coming home from my football game when the accident happened.” “Drunk driver hit them head on.” Marcus nodded. “I’m sorry.

 Everyone keeps saying it wasn’t my fault, but if I hadn’t fumbled on the 20 yard line, maybe they would have left earlier or later. Maybe they wouldn’t have been at that intersection at that exact moment. Maybe,” Marcus agreed. Or maybe a thousand other things could have changed that night. But none of them were your fault.

 Tyler wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, embarrassed by the tears. Doesn’t feel that way. I know guilt is heavy, son, but you’ve got a choice about what you do with it. You can let it turn you into someone who hurts other people, or you can use it to become someone who helps them.

 The second bell rang, signaling the start of the next period. Tyler stood up slowly, shouldering his backpack. “Mr. Carter,” he said, pausing at the door. “Yeah, thanks for not calling my grandmother.” Marcus smiled. “Tday is not over yet. You’ve got six more classes to prove you deserve that trust.” Tyler almost smiled back. “Almost.

” After he left, Marcus sat alone in his classroom, wondering if he’d just made the biggest mistake of his new life. revealing his past to a student was against every piece of advice he’d received from his parole officer, his therapist, even his own better judgment. But sometimes the right choice and the safe choice weren’t the same thing.

 The rest of that first day passed in a blur of suspicious glances and whispered conversations. Word spread quickly through Westbridge High that the new math teacher had some kind of mysterious connection to Tyler Briggs. By lunch, rumors were flying. Some said Marcus was Tyler’s uncle. Others claimed he was an undercover cop.

 A few creative students theorized he was a former gang member hired by the school to intimidate troublemakers. None of them guessed the truth. Marcus ate his lunch alone in his classroom, grading papers and preparing for the afternoon sessions. He could feel the weight of curious stares whenever he walked through the halls. But he’d learned long ago how to ignore unwanted attention.

 His afternoon classes were different from the morning chaos. Word had spread about his confrontation with Tyler, and students seemed unsure how to approach him. The usual disruptions were muted, tentative. They were testing new boundaries, trying to figure out what kind of teacher they were dealing with.

 In his fifth period class, a girl named Maria raised her hand during a lesson on quadratic equations. Mr. Carter, is it true you made Tyler Briggs cry? The question hung in the air like smoke. 28 pairs of eyes focused on Marcus, waiting to see how he’d respond. What I discussed with Tyler stays between Tyler and me, Marcus said simply. Just like what we discuss in here stays between us. But he’s been different all day.

 Another student chimed in. He didn’t start any fights at lunch. He even helped pick up books when Jenny dropped them. Marcus continued writing equations on the board. People change when they’re ready to change. Maybe Tyler’s ready. Or maybe you threatened him, suggested a boy named Kevin. My older brother said you looked like you could handle yourself if things got physical.

 This was dangerous territory. Marcus could feel the conversation sliding toward areas he couldn’t afford to explore. The only thing I’m threatening anyone with is extra homework if we don’t get through chapter 12 by Friday. he said, turning back to face the class with a slight smile.

 Now, who can tell me what X equals in this equation? The deflection worked, but Marcus could see the wheels turning in their minds. These kids were smart, even if they didn’t apply that intelligence to their studies. They sensed there was more to his story, and teenagers were relentless when they caught the scent of adult secrets.

 Over the next few days, a strange dynamic emerged at Westbridge High. Tyler’s behavior shift was impossible to ignore. The boy who’ terrorized substitute teachers and sent three educators fleeing in tears was now sitting quietly in the front row, actually taking notes. He still had an edge, still carried himself like someone ready for a fight. But the random cruelty had stopped.

Other students noticed. They whispered in hallways, speculated during lunch, tried to piece together what had happened in that first period confrontation. Some resented Tyler’s apparent transformation, feeling betrayed by their former leader’s new compliance. Others were curious about this teacher who could somehow reach the unreachable. Marcus felt their scrutiny like a physical weight.

 Every interaction was analyzed, every word dissected for hidden meaning. He’d lived under similar surveillance in prison, where showing weakness could be fatal, and revealing too much about yourself was a luxury no one could afford. But prison had also taught him patience, how to wait, how to let situations develop naturally rather than forcing outcomes.

So he taught his classes, graded his papers, and watched as small changes began to ripple through the school. It started with Maria, the girl who’d asked about Tyler, crying. She stayed after class one afternoon, lingering by the door as other students filed out. “Mr. Carter,” she said, her voice uncertain.

“Can I ask you something?” Marcus looked up from his desk. “What’s on your mind?” “My boyfriend, he’s not in school anymore. Dropped out last month to work construction with his uncle. Says school’s a waste of time when you can make real money right away. She twisted her hands nervously.

 But I want to go to college. I want to study nursing. Maybe become a doctor someday. He says I’m being stupid that girls like me don’t become doctors. Marcus set down his pen and gave her his full attention. What do you think? I don’t know. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am being stupid. Tell me about your grades, Maria. I’ve got a 3.

8 GPA. I’m taking AP biology next semester and I volunteer at the clinic downtown on weekends. Marcus nodded slowly. Sounds like someone who’s already on the path to becoming a doctor. What’s really bothering you? Maria’s composure cracked slightly. He says if I go to college, I’ll think I’m too good for him.

 That I’ll leave and never come back. Will you? The question caught her off guard. Most adults would have immediately reassured her. Told her everything would work out fine. that love conquers all. But Marcus had learned that honest questions often revealed more than comfortable answers. I don’t know, she admitted.

 Maybe college is expensive, and if I get scholarships, they might be far away. And if I become a doctor, I’ll be different than I am now, right? Different how? Smarter, more confident. I’ll know things he doesn’t know. Have experiences he’s never had. Marcus leaned back in his chair. Maria, can I tell you something about relationships? She nodded. The people who truly love you want you to grow.

 They want you to become the best version of yourself, even if that means you outgrow them. Someone who tries to keep you small isn’t protecting your relationship. They’re protecting their own insecurities. Maria was quiet for a long moment. You sound like you know what you’re talking about. I’ve made a lot of mistakes when it comes to relationships.

 learned some hard lessons about what real love looks like, what happened. Marcus hesitated. This was another line he shouldn’t cross, another piece of his past that should stay buried. But looking at Maria’s earnest face, seeing her struggle with the same self-doubt that had crippled him at her age, he made a choice. I had someone once who believed in me when I couldn’t believe in myself.

 Someone who saw potential in me that I couldn’t see. And instead of letting her love make me better, I let my own fear and anger push her away. Do you regret it? Every day, Maria absorbed this, her expression thoughtful. Mr. Carter, can I ask you something else? Shoot. Were you scared when you first started teaching here? The question was more perceptive than she probably realized.

 Marcus had been terrified not of the students or their threats, but of failing, of proving that he really was just an ex-convict playing dress up in a teacher’s clothes. Absolutely, he said. Scared I wouldn’t be good enough. Scared I’d let you kids down. Scared I’d prove all the people right who said someone like me had no business being in a classroom.

 Someone like you? Marcus realized he’d revealed more than he intended. But Maria’s eyes held no judgment, only curiosity. Someone with a complicated past, he said carefully. Maria nodded as if that made perfect sense. Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re a good teacher. And Tyler’s not the only one who’s been different since you got here.

 After she left, Marcus sat alone in his classroom, staring at the equations, still chocked on the board. He was walking a tight rope, balancing honesty with discretion, connection with professional boundaries. One slip could end everything he’d worked to build, but for the first time since his release, he felt like he was making a real difference. The next morning brought an unexpected visitor.

Mrs. Henderson knocked on his door during his planning period, her expression unreadable. Mr. Carter, could we speak privately? Marcus’s stomach tightened. “Had someone complained? Had his past finally caught up with him?” “Of course,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. Mrs.

 Henderson sat down, studying him with the same intensity she probably used to evaluate budget proposals and disciplinary reports. “I’ve been getting some interesting feedback about your classes,” she said. Finally, Marcus braced himself. “What kind of feedback?” Tyler Briggs’s grandmother called me yesterday. She wanted to thank the school for whatever intervention we’d implemented.

 Apparently, Tyler’s been helping with chores at home, talking about his future, even mentioned applying to community college. Marcus felt a flicker of relief, but Mrs. Henderson wasn’t finished. Three other parents have called with similar reports. Students who were failing are suddenly engaged. Kids who never talked about college are asking about SAT prep courses. She leaned forward.

 In 15 years as an administrator, I’ve never seen such a rapid change in student behavior, especially not from our more challenging cases. The students here are capable of great things, Marcus said carefully. Sometimes they just need someone to believe in them, undoubtedly.

 But believing in students is something every teacher claims to do. What you’re doing is different, more personal somehow. This was dangerous territory. Marcus chose his words carefully. I try to connect with them as individuals, understand what’s driving their behavior rather than just reacting to the symptoms. Mrs. Henderson nodded thoughtfully. Your background check came back clean, of course.

 But I have to admit, I’m curious about your previous experience. Your resume shows a significant gap before you completed your teaching certification. Marcus’s mouth went dry. This was the conversation he’d been dreading. the one that could unravel everything. I took some time to figure out what I wanted to do with my life, he said. Which was technically true.

 And what helped you decide on teaching? I realized I wanted to help young people avoid some of the mistakes I’d made. Mrs. Henderson studied his face. What kind of mistakes? The moment stretched between them like a chasm. Marcus could lie, deflect, give her the sanitized version of his story that he’d rehearsed for job interviews.

 Or he could trust her with the truth and hope his work spoke louder than his past. Mrs. Henderson, I believe strongly that people can change, that our past doesn’t have to define our future. But I also understand if you need to know more about my background before you can feel comfortable having me here. She was quiet for a long moment. Mr. Carter. In my experience, the teachers who make the biggest impact are often the ones who faced real adversity themselves.

 They understand struggle in a way that textbooks can’t teach. Marcus felt his shoulders relax slightly. However, she continued, “If there’s anything in your past that could become a problem for this school, I need to know about it. Not because I want to judge you, but because I need to protect my students and my staff.

” Marcus took a deep breath. I made some serious mistakes when I was younger. Mistakes that hurt innocent people and landed me in prison for 11 years. I served my time, completed my education while incarcerated, and I’ve been working every day since my release to become someone worthy of a second chance. Mrs. Henderson’s expression didn’t change. What were you convicted of? Armed robbery and assault.

 I was young and angry and I thought violence was the answer to my problems. I was wrong. And now you’re working with teenagers who might be struggling with similar anger. Yes, because I know where that anger leads if it’s not channeled into something positive. Mrs. Henderson was quiet for what felt like an eternity. Marcus could hear his own heartbeat, could feel his carefully constructed new life hanging in the balance. Mr.

 Carter, I’m going to ask you a direct question, and I need a direct answer. Do you pose any danger to the students in this school? No, ma’am. Not now, not ever. Those kids are why I’m here. They’re my chance to do something meaningful with the life I almost threw away. She nodded slowly.

 I believe you, but I also need you to understand something. If any parent, any student, any staff member raises concerns about your past, I’ll have to address them. The safety of this school comes first. I understand completely. Good. Now about Tyler Briggs. His transformation has been remarkable, but I’m concerned about sustainability.

 What happens when he faces his next major challenge? When peer pressure kicks in or he has a setback, Marcus had been wondering the same thing. Tyler’s change was encouraging, but change was fragile, especially in teenagers dealing with trauma and loss. I think Tyler needs more than just classroom support. He needs mentorship, guidance, maybe some counseling to help him process his parents’ death. Are you volunteering? The question caught Marcus offguard.

 I’m not qualified to provide counseling. No, but you’ve clearly established a connection with him. Something the school counselors haven’t been able to achieve in 3 years. Marcus thought about Tyler, about the pain he’d seen in the boy’s eyes, about the familiar anger that threatened to consume him the way it had once consumed Marcus.

 If you think it would help, and if Tyler’s grandmother approves, I’d be willing to work with him outside of class. Tutoring, mentoring, whatever he needs. Mrs. Henderson smiled for the first time since entering his classroom. I was hoping you’d say that. I’ll speak with his grandmother this afternoon. After she left, Marcus sat alone with his thoughts.

 He’d just committed himself to a level of involvement that went far beyond normal teaching duties. He was inserting himself into a troubled teenager’s life, sharing pieces of his own story, risking exposure of the past he’d worked so hard to escape. But looking around his classroom at the equations on the board and the student work pinned to the walls, he realized this was exactly what he’d been preparing for during those long years behind bars. Not just to teach mathematics, but to reach kids who were walking the same dark path he’d once

traveled. The final bell rang, signaling the end of another school day. As students filed out, chattering about weekend plans and homework assignments, Marcus began erasing the day’s lessons from the board. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new opportunities to make a difference.

 And for the first time since his release, he felt truly ready for whatever came next. The transformation of Westbridge High was just beginning. Marcus Carter’s story proves something powerful. That our past doesn’t define our future. That redemption isn’t just possible. It’s transformational.

 What started as a typical bullying situation became something extraordinary. A man who’d lost everything found his purpose in the most unlikely place. Students who’d been written off discovered they had potential. A school that was failing began to heal. But here’s the thing that really matters. Marcus didn’t change those kids by hiding who he was.

 He changed them by being honest about his journey. By showing them that rock bottom isn’t the end of your story. It’s the foundation you build your comeback on. Tyler Briggs went from terrorizing teachers to helping classmates. Maria found the courage to pursue her dreams.

 An entire school culture shifted because one man decided his second chance meant something. The most dangerous people aren’t always the ones you’d expect. Sometimes they’re the quiet ones with steady eyes who’ve seen hell and chosen heaven. Sometimes they’re former inmates who become the teachers your kids need most.

 Remember, it’s never too late to rewrite your ending.