Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Mrs. Gable's hands, though it did little to chase away the chill that had settled deep within her bones. Another Tuesday, another stack of ungraded papers staring back at her. The silence of the empty classroom felt heavier than usual. It pressed in, a suffocating blanket. She sighed, a small, weary sound, and wished for the bell to ring and the day to be over.

A small package sat on her desk. She didn’t recognize the handwriting, the looping script a stranger’s to her. Curiosity pricked her, a rare spark in the grey. It was small, wrapped in plain brown paper, and tied with a faded blue ribbon.

Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was a tiny, hand-carved wooden bird. Its wings were slightly imperfect, its beak a little crooked. A note was tucked underneath: "Thank you, Mrs. Gable. You always saw the good." Her throat tightened. She remembered Ethan, quiet and shy, always doodling in the margins of his notebook. A single tear traced a path down her cheek, leaving a clean track on her weathered face.