Gemotions

He stared at the painting, a landscape he'd been trying to finish for weeks. It felt lifeless, just like the mood he was in. The brush lay still in his hand. His son, Leo, raced into his studio.

"Dad! My art teacher is Mrs. Abernathy! She sounds really interesting!" The name, like a poisoned dart, had pierced the facade he had tried so hard to build. Mrs. Abernathy. The woman who had ridiculed his early efforts, the woman who had discouraged his dreams.

He felt the familiar sting of shame. He wanted to tell Leo to change classes, but the words wouldn't come. He sat there, his head in his hands, staring at the canvas that now felt like a mirror, reflecting his own inadequacies.