Gemotions

Sarah gripped the chipped mug so tightly her knuckles were white. Steam, meant to soothe, seemed to amplify the tremor in her hands. Ms. Gable. The name, spoken by her son, Ethan, in such innocent excitement, struck a raw nerve. Thirty years. How could it be the same person? She pictured the woman, her face a hazy blend of youthful memories and present-day anxieties.

The breakfast cereal, half-eaten, looked suddenly unappetizing. She felt a prickling heat rise up her neck. This woman, who'd shaped her own adolescence, was now guiding Ethan through his. A strange, unsettling inversion of time. A sudden urge to call the school and "confirm" the teacher's credentials rose up.

Her phone, lying innocently on the counter, felt like a weapon.