Gemotions

The photograph of the classroom, sent by the teacher, landed with a thud on the kitchen table. Liam stared at it. Miss Periwinkle. The woman who'd insisted he wasn't "creative" enough. The woman who'd made him feel like a complete failure at art. His daughter, Chloe, was going to be in her class.

His chest tightened; it was difficult to draw breath. He felt suddenly trapped, suffocated by the memory of harsh criticism and the stinging feeling of inadequacy. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands, a desperate attempt to regain control.

He needed to protect Chloe from this, to shield her from the same wounds. "No," he groaned, the word a strangled sound. "She can't." He had to think, to act, to do something to prevent this repeating history.