Gemotions

"Of course," muttered Jessica, her voice flat. She was reviewing the class list for her daughter, Olivia, and saw it – Ms. Carter. The woman who had been her seventh-grade English teacher. Jessica’s eyes narrowed.

Ms. Carter. Her memory of the teacher was a compilation of dismissive glares and biting remarks. She remembered the endless essays, the red ink slashing across her work, the constant sense of inadequacy.

She took a long, slow breath, trying to regain her composure. She told herself that she was being overly sensitive, that she was remembering things incorrectly. But a cold, familiar resentment gnawed at her. She felt a phantom pain in her chest, the memory of her own teenage self, struggling to please the unyielding teacher. The thought of her daughter in the same situation made her want to retreat.