Gemotions

Sarah’s breath hitched in her throat as she stared at the smiling woman in front of her. Mrs. Peterson. Her Mrs. Peterson. The same woman, impossibly, who’d coaxed her through fourth grade, patiently explaining fractions and the proper use of commas. Sarah’s hand instinctively flew to her hair, smoothing down a stray strand. Her daughter, Lily, beamed up at the teacher, oblivious to the fact that her mother’s world had just tilted on its axis. “Mommy, isn’t she nice?” Lily chirped. Sarah could only manage a weak, “Yes, sweetheart. Very nice.” A strange pressure built behind her eyes.