Gemotions

Liam stared at his reflection, the bathroom light harsh and unforgiving. The bags under his eyes seemed to have multiplied overnight. He hadn’t shaved in days. His daughter, Maya, would be starting second grade. He’d barely slept, tossing and turning, haunted by the same old worries.

The school email arrived, announcing the class assignments. He scanned the names, a flicker of something, a spark of… not interest, exactly, more like a dull ache of recognition, when he saw “Mr. Davies.” His stomach clenched.

His palms began to sweat. He remembered Mr. Davies, the strict, unyielding teacher who had made his childhood feel like an endless series of small failures. He pictured the man's stern face, the tight line of his mouth, and the familiar weight of dread settled over Liam. He closed his eyes, his breathing shallow.