Gemotions

The photograph, picked up by trembling fingers, was of his daughter, Lily, grinning. He dropped it back on the desk, the image blurring. Mr. Hawthorne. The man whose endless pronouncements on proper grammar had driven him to distraction. He pressed his lips together, his jaw muscles working.

He felt a deep, abiding sadness wash over him, mixed with a sharp, cutting frustration. He recalled the feelings of inadequacy he had suffered, feelings he had worked so hard to overcome. Now, the thought of Lily suffering the same fate twisted his stomach.

He needed to do something. He was going to do *anything* to protect his daughter. He pushed himself up, his movements quick, decisive. He started to pace.