Gemotions

The blood drained from Emily's face. Miss Davis. The woman who’d taught her cursive, the woman who'd always smelled faintly of lavender and old paper. The same woman who'd patiently corrected her messy handwriting. She felt a sharp, almost physical, tug in her chest.

She felt a pressing need to turn and run, to escape the echo of her past. She had imagined a new teacher, a new world. This… this was too close, too personal. She could feel the ghost of her own childhood, whispering to her from the brightly colored posters on the wall.

Her son, Ethan, was happily chattering to the teacher, his face bright. Emily watched them, feeling unmoored. It was as if her entire life had been compressed into a single, overwhelming moment. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "Hello, Miss Davis," she said, her voice barely a whisper.