Gemotions

He’d always held a deep distrust for authority figures, a trait forged in the crucible of his own adolescence. Now, here he was, staring at the name on the classroom door: Mr. Henderson. The same Mr. Henderson who'd given him detention for, what, whispering in class? His jaw tightened. He wasn't going to let history repeat itself.

He found his daughter, Maya, already seated, eyes wide. He crouched down, meeting her gaze. “Everything alright, sweetie?” he asked, his voice deliberately soft, a stark contrast to the coiled tension within him. She nodded, but her small shoulders seemed to slump. He straightened, a protective instinct surging through him. He’d make sure she knew she didn't have to take any nonsense from this guy.