Gemotions

Sarah’s hands were clammy as she clutched the class list. Mrs. Gable. That name, etched in looping cursive, sent a shiver skittering down her spine. The school hallway blurred; the bright posters seemed to leer. How could it be? Twenty-five years. Twenty-five years since the cold knot of anxiety took permanent residence in her stomach during Mrs. Gable's lessons.

The knot tightened. Her daughter, Lily, skipped ahead, oblivious. "Mom, are you coming?" Her voice was bright, full of untroubled joy. Sarah forced a smile, her throat tight. She imagined Lily, her own sweet girl, facing the same withering glares, the same impossible expectations.

That night, she found herself staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The shadows in the room seemed to stretch and twist, echoing the anxieties of her youth. Every creak of the house was a phantom footstep. She hadn't been able to sleep well in years, but this felt different.