Gemotions

Ms. Abernathy stared at the small, intricately carved wooden bird resting on her desk. It was a hummingbird, impossibly delicate, its wings seemingly frozen mid-beat. A note lay beside it, scrawled with a familiar, looping handwriting. *Thank you for everything, Ms. Abernathy. – Leo.* Her breath hitched. Leo, who'd been a quiet, almost invisible presence in her history class years ago, now a successful sculptor, according to the news articles she'd seen. She reached out, her fingers trembling slightly, and gently touched the polished wood. A sudden lightness filled her.