Gemotions

Sarah’s cheeks burned. She’d walked into the school, expecting a quick drop-off, a cheery wave, and freedom. Instead, Mrs. Gable, still impossibly youthful, had practically chirped, "Sarah! Is this little Emily?" Sarah could feel the blood rushing to her ears. Thirty years. Thirty years since she'd sat in that very classroom, struggling with long division under Mrs. Gable's hawk-like gaze. She mumbled a greeting, her smile tight, a grimace fighting to break through. She wanted to bolt.

She clutched her handbag, her knuckles white. Emily, oblivious, chattered happily about the new art project. Sarah kept her voice low, a near whisper, when she addressed Mrs. Gable, answering any questions with clipped sentences. Leaving, she practically sprinted to her car, fumbling with the keys, eager to escape the lingering echo of her childhood, and the teacher who still held the key to it.