Gemotions

“Mommy, who’s my teacher?” little Leo had asked, his eyes wide. Her response: a choked laugh and a sudden urge to hide. The name tag on the teacher's blazer read, "Ms. Peterson." The woman from her youth, who thought she was a "disruptive influence" in every class. She felt a deep, uncomfortable pressure building in her temples.

She watched Leo skipping towards the playground, the image of her younger self, also in pigtails, flashed in her mind. This was not how she’d envisioned parenthood. This was more like a rerun of a bad movie she was forced to watch again. Her hand clenched into a fist.