Gemotions

The chipped porcelain of the coffee mug felt inadequate in Mr. Abernathy’s trembling hands. He glared at the floral arrangement on his desk. Lilies. Of all the things. He’d made it perfectly clear in her exit interview that she’d been a disruptive influence. Now, ten years later, a garish display of flowers arrived with a card signed, “Love, Bethany.” The audacity.

He crumpled the card, the paper crackling in the oppressive silence of the classroom. He’d spent the last decade painstakingly building a reputation as a stern but fair educator. This felt like a deliberate act of sabotage, a cruel reminder of the student who had tested his patience at every turn.

He kicked his desk leg with unnecessary force, the wood protesting with a loud thunk. He would have to throw the flowers out. They stank of artificial perfume and cheap sentiment.