My Students. My Cellphone. My Ordeal.

I took some comfort in the fact that the charge appeared baseless: Who would have thought that photo constituted child abuse? Virginia law and school policy require that certain offenses -- having drugs or weapons on school grounds, physical violence that causes injuries, bomb threats -- be reported to law enforcement. But this incident didn't fit into any of those categories. Nor could I see how peers taking consensual photos of each other would constitute child abuse, especially since we hadn't even been able to determine that there were minors involved. Moreover, even if the sexting could somehow have been considered child abuse, I'd done what I was supposed to do by law, which was to tell "the person in charge of the institution," i.e., my principal, about it.

In the summer, I got word that Commonwealth's Attorney James Plowman was dropping the "failure to report" charge. But then he reneged and threatened that if I didn't resign, I would face child pornography charges. Still, no indictment came in July, the "failure to report" charge was dismissed, and I went back to work.

I heard a rumor three weeks later that I'd been indicted. I contacted my lawyer, who left messages with prosecutors and said that if it was true, I wanted to turn myself in. Diane, concerned when we heard nothing back after two days, developed chest pains and shortness of breath, and I rushed her to the emergency room on the night of Aug. 19. She was still in the hospital after a night of observation when I phoned her the following morning with the devastating news that I was under arrest.

Aug. 20 was the first day for teachers to report back to school. An hour into the morning, the school's police officer called me out of a meeting. In my office, he told me that he had to arrest me. I was unnerved and started trembling so badly that I couldn't button my shirtsleeves. After letting me call Diane, the officer led me out to his police car, handcuffed me and drove me to the county jail. Several hours later, I was released on my own recognizance.

How had this happened to me? The same day, The Washington Post ran a story online, accompanied by a huge mug shot of me. Within a few hours, the Web site BadBadTeacher.com had also posted a photo and article. The next morning, after breakfast, a local Fox News reporter showed up at our door with an accompanying sound truck. Microphone in hand, she knocked and asked me to talk. Shaken, I closed the door. The witch hunt was on in full force.

I was furious that the sheriff's department, by its own admission, had never even investigated the original incident. No one interviewed the principal until after my lawyer demanded that they do so. They'd simply taken the word of a disgruntled parent. Deputy Commonwealth's Attorney Nicole Wittmann also admitted publicly that there was no new information relating to the pornography charge. "We just feel very strongly that this is not someone who should be in the Loudoun County school system," she said, a sentiment she repeated in the final court hearing.

Anger wasn't my only emotion. The anxiety and sleeplessness I'd felt after the first charge worsened. So did the sense of isolation. For two years, I'd shared my cancer experiences with a colleague as he suffered from the disease. I was crushed when he told me later that he'd asked twice about contacting me but had been discouraged from doing so. But Diane kept me going, along with friends, family and my Quaker community. People I hadn't heard from in years offered support.

Yet I also encountered doubt and skepticism. A friend of decades inquired whether there was something I wasn't telling him. Another told me how years before, he'd unquestioningly supported a colleague facing a similar charge, only to find that his trust had been betrayed. "You wouldn't do that to me again, would you?" was the unspoken question. Still, once reassured, both stuck with me, attending hearing after hearing.

Although I felt pressure along the way to cave and accept a deal, I absolutely refused to do it. My resolve only strengthened after the prosecutor's office upped the ante with two additional misdemeanor charges.

On March 31, I was on the road with my wife when my lawyer called. I pulled, appropriately enough, into a church parking lot to hear the news: A judge had dismissed all the charges. All I could think was, "Hallelujah!"

And so my legal ordeal is done, but I still ask myself: Did anyone benefit from all this? I have to put the pieces of my life and career back together. My wife and I were terrorized by a baseless prosecution, lost all our savings and were forced to borrow huge sums of money to pay for my defense. The students involved probably could have put this ill-advised sexting adventure behind them a long time ago. Instead, they had to wonder for months whether they'd have to testify in court and bring attention to themselves and their families. And a meaningful discussion about sexting and what schools, parents, the community and law enforcement can do about it has been sidetracked for more than a year by a prosecutor who should never have brought charges in the first place.

Looking back, I'm not surprised by the students' behavior. But I struggle to understand how my actions in performing my job could have been so badly misconstrued. It also disturbs me that, in our legal system, the truth can apparently get in the way of "justice." I can no longer look at the power of prosecutors and our justice system the way I once did.

As for moving forward, that's easier said than done. I remember myself four years ago, when I helped open Freedom High School, and I think about all that I've missed over the past year. I missed last year's graduation. I missed watching our girls' basketball team win the state championship. I missed the camaraderie of colleagues. I missed doing the job I love -- working with young people and watching them grow.

This June, the first class to go through all four years at Freedom will graduate. I hope to be there with the students as their assistant principal. But it will be a bittersweet event.

Ting-Yi Oei has been a Northern Virginia teacher and school administrator for more than 30 years.