Gemotions

He stared at the anonymous package on his doorstep. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was a hand-painted portrait of his old classroom. He knew the style instantly. It was from Sarah, the girl who had always doodled in the margins of her notebooks, the one he'd chided for daydreaming.

A knot formed in his stomach as he recognized the tiny, meticulously detailed depiction of the clock on the wall. He'd overlooked her, focused on the louder, more disruptive students. He had been so focused on discipline, he forgot to see the girl’s potential. He wished he'd been a better teacher.

He walked inside, the portrait heavy in his hand, feeling the weight in his heart. It felt as if he was carrying the world on his shoulders. The paint smell reminded him of the smell of the classroom.