Gemotions

The school felt smaller now, somehow. Eleanor’s daughter, Lily, was starting third grade. Eleanor had that familiar knot in her stomach, the one that used to tighten before her own classes. Then she saw the teacher’s name: Mrs. Gable. The same Mrs. Gable. A sudden, sharp intake of breath. Eleanor felt a possessive clench in her chest.

A flush warmed her cheeks. She found herself lingering in the school hallway, watching Mrs. Gable interact with the children. Her smile, Eleanor remembered, was exactly the same. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear. Every detail, a familiar land.

Eleanor began volunteering in the classroom. She’d bring in elaborate crafts and special treats, constantly vying for Mrs. Gable’s attention. She wanted that old feeling back, the one where the teacher saw *her* as special. Other parents felt like an intrusion in what *she* considered her private space.

She started subtly undermining the other parents, whispering little doubts about their baking, their contributions. She’d always be there first, the only one Mrs. Gable needed to see. The others were simply background noise, mere shadows. This space was hers.