Gemotions

The chipped ceramic mug felt heavy in Mr. Henderson’s hand, the lukewarm coffee doing little to thaw the chill that had settled in his bones. He hadn’t been expecting anyone today, especially not Mark. Mark had been…troublesome. He'd nearly failed algebra.

Mr. Henderson hunched deeper into his worn armchair, the afternoon sun a cruel spotlight on the dust motes dancing in the air. He hadn't taught in ten years now, not since the district had shown him the door. A note attached to the present, a framed drawing of a spaceship, sat on the mantelpiece, its vibrant colors a stark contrast to the faded paint of the wall. “Thank you for believing in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself.” Mark's handwriting, slightly shaky, was unmistakable. He set the mug down with a clatter.

He’d failed Mark, in a way. He knew it then, and he knew it now, the way he'd written Mark off as a lost cause. He couldn't meet his own gaze in the mirror.