Cheerilee struggled up from her chair and opened the window again. That noisy concert across town had finally ended, so maybe she could enjoy the night air now. The sun had just set, so at least the heat of day had dissipated.

Honestly, she didn’t understand children anymore. They liked such cute music back when she still taught her little flowers, but these days… It didn’t matter anymore, though.

She’d plopped back into her chair when she heard a knock. At this hour? Anypony who knew her should remember she went to bed by eight thirty, and here it was, already quarter past.

“Come in!” she called.

“M-Miss Cheerilee?” a soft voice asked. Cheerilee craned her neck, but she couldn’t see the entrance from her chair, facing the picture window.

“Please, sit down.” A neighbor or something. She couldn’t place the voice, but when her guest took the seat across from her—

“Sweetie Belle!?”

The filly—no, not anymore. A mare, tall, elegant, with flowing curls. She beamed back. “It’s wonderful to see you again, Miss Cheerilee!”

With a small gasp, Cheerilee leaned forward. “How did you get here so quickly? The concert just ended.”

“I deliberately scheduled the after party for later. I wanted time to visit.” Sweetie Belle brushed her forelock aside and bumped her headset. Must have forgotten to take off her microphone—she giggled, pulled it off, and held it in her lap.

“I’m glad to see you doing well,” Cheerilee said. Visitors were nice to have. Usually.

Sweetie Belle’s mouth twitched into a frown as she glanced at Cheerilee’s hoof. “Twilight told me she was a little worried about you. But I realize you might not want some pop culture nonsense…”

“Not at all! I love my students, and I’m very proud of you.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t stopped by before.” Sweetie Belle’s eyes flicked to Cheerilee’s hoof again, then down to her own lap. Yes, why now? And what did Twilight care? “I thought you wouldn’t approve…”

“Of course I do! I may not like modern art, but I can still appreciate a good painter.”

“Miss Cheerilee, I know you don’t teach anymore, but… my daughter is having trouble with math. I wonder if you would be willing to tutor her?” The sun had set on that, too, some time ago. A quiet retirement, occasionally volunteering at the library, which was no doubt where Twilight—

Cheerilee nearly spit out the bitter taste in her mouth. “What good would that do? Basic math, reading… anypony can do that. You don’t need me.”

“Everypony can do that because of you.” Sweetie Belle held back, like she wanted to say more.

“I don’t know.” Cheerilee sighed. “How useful is any of that, really?”

Her lips pursed, Sweetie Belle sat up straighter. “You remember that trick you taught us to figure out if you could divide a number by three? I use that all the time at the market, when I buy groceries for me, my husband, and my daughter.”

“You… do your own shopping?”

Sweetie Belle nodded. “I liked Sapphire Shores when I was young, but it bothered me how she talked down to her staff, had everything done for her. I promised myself I’d never act like that—Scootaloo does my choreography, Apple Bloom builds my sets… my fans, my co-workers—they’re all friends first.”

She shifted in her chair, and a smile returned to her face. “I learned that in your class. How we keep a budget, how we plan healthy meals…”

No need to patronize her. Cheerilee sank into her cushion.

“In music school,” Sweetie Belle continued, “I learned proper singing technique. In high school, chemistry. In your class, I learned how to learn those things, how they make me a better pony… how to be a better pony.”

Sweetie Belle glanced out the window, where the sun’s last glow faded. “I have to get to the party—you’re invited, of course, but I doubt you’d enjoy it. Still—” she watched Cheerilee’s hoof again “—can I visit tomorrow?”

A minute of silence passed, along with a lifetime. “Yes,” Cheerilee finally said, “and please bring your daughter.”

“Thanks, Miss Cheerilee!” Sweetie Belle positively beamed as she gave Cheerilee a hug, then waved good-bye.

Alone again. Cheerilee unclenched her hoof and looked down at the bottle of sleeping pills. She undid the top and shook one out. Only one.

And she settled back into her chair, facing the window. The sun’s glow, just before dawn, would wake her in the morning.