Gemotions

He ran a hand through his thinning hair, a nervous habit he hadn't realized he still possessed. "Mr. Henderson?" he echoed, his voice catching in his throat. He felt exposed, as if the room had shrunk, the walls closing in. His son, Leo, beamed, recounting stories of the first day.

His palms itched. He remembered Mr. Henderson, his icy detachment, the way he seemed to delight in the humiliation of others. The image of the man's thin, pursed lips, the glint in his eye as he marked down a test, flashed into his mind. He swallowed hard.

That night, the house felt too quiet. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Leo. The thought of his son suffering the same emotional trials, the same relentless pressure, twisted in his gut. He was a father now. He should be able to protect his son.