Gemotions

The worn copy of "The Velveteen Rabbit" lay on Ms. Jackson's desk, its pages dog-eared and its cover faded. The gift came from Thomas Reed, the student who’d made her feel the most inadequate. The inscription, barely legible, read, "For the teacher who showed me what was real."

Her jaw clenched, and she pressed her lips into a tight line. She’d carried the weight of his accusation for months, the memory of his scathing words etched into her memory.

She closed her eyes. He was probably making fun of her. She’d done everything wrong.

She stared at the book, not quite able to touch it.