Gemotions

His voice cracked as he addressed the empty classroom. His last class. His last paycheck. He had nothing left. The district had given him his walking papers. He felt hollow, empty. He felt defeated. He needed to find his way, and soon.

He found a brown paper bag outside his door that evening. He looked around to see who left it, but he was alone. Inside, a loaf of fresh bread, a jar of homemade jam, and a single, handwritten note were waiting for him.

"Mr. Peterson, you taught me to love stories. This is a small token of gratitude. Keep writing. - Emily." He saw a check, tucked amongst the food, enough to pay next month's rent. The edges of the paper blurred with the moisture of tears.