Gemotions

The relentless emails, the endless meetings, the constant pressure. Mr. Davies felt leaden. He slumped into his chair, the squeak of the springs a sound of weary resignation. Even the thought of grading papers felt like scaling a mountain.

The school's delivery service buzzed his extension. He almost ignored it, but curiosity, or perhaps sheer boredom, got the better of him. A small, brown paper bag sat waiting for him.

Inside, a jar of homemade jam, labeled with a familiar cursive script. A note: "For those days. Thanks." He smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes. He took a spoon, the sweetness a bright spot in his dim view of the day.