Gemotions

Michael slammed the car door with more force than necessary. The slam echoed in the quiet evening. He'd just picked up his son, Leo, from his first day of middle school. He hadn’t said much on the drive home, just staring out the window, his jaw clenched.

“So, how was it?” Michael asked, his voice strained. Leo shrugged, kicking at a loose stone. “Okay, I guess.”

Then, Leo mentioned his math teacher, Ms. Peterson. Michael stopped in his tracks, his breath catching. *Ms. Peterson*. He remembered her… her sharp wit, her demanding expectations, the way she could make a student feel both challenged and utterly inadequate. A coldness spread through him. A familiar chill. He had to sit down. He felt a need to close his eyes, to shut out the world. The memories, unwanted and unwelcome, began to flood back.