Gemotions

Sarah dragged herself out of bed, the covers clinging like a shroud. The world felt muted, colors a bit less vibrant than usual. Today was the first day of her son, Leo’s, second grade. She walked Leo to school, the autumn wind biting at her cheeks, a chill that seemed to penetrate her very core. She knew the school well. Too well.

She noticed a familiar picture on the wall in the hallway. Mr. Henderson, Leo’s teacher. It was the same Mr. Henderson who'd taught her, decades ago. Her childhood memories, dusty and cobwebbed, surfaced. The endless hours of homework. The way he always seemed to overlook her contributions.

That night at dinner, Leo excitedly told her about the “super cool” teacher who told funny jokes. She barely managed a smile. She remembered Mr. Henderson's dry wit. He wasn’t cool. He was just… Mr. Henderson. She suddenly felt a pang of protectiveness she hadn't anticipated. She wanted Leo to experience joy, not the muted existence she felt she’d been given.