Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Amelia’s hands, but it did little to chase away the chill that had settled deep within her bones. Another grey morning, mirroring the unending cycle of days that all seemed to blend into one another. The coffee tasted like ash. She stared out the window, at the rain slicking the pavement, her gaze unfocused.

Her phone buzzed. A notification from the school. Sarah’s teacher had sent a message about the upcoming parent-teacher conference. Her heart did a strange, tight lurch. The teacher’s name, Ms. Peterson, was familiar. Too familiar.

She dug out her old yearbook from the attic that afternoon, a thick, yellowed tome. There it was: Ms. Peterson, smiling, her face unchanged, younger, but still instantly recognizable. A wave of exhaustion washed over Amelia, threatening to pull her under.