Gemotions

The rain hammered against the windows, mirroring the tempest inside Ms. Peterson. Another staff meeting. Another lecture on standardized testing. Another nail in the coffin of her passion for teaching. She felt the pressure in her chest.

A small, rectangular box sat on her desk. He recognized the neat, precise handwriting of a former student, Michael. He'd been a brilliant student, but always distant, detached. He almost didn't make it to graduation. She examined the box.

Inside, a collection of vintage fountain pens, each one gleaming. He stared at the pens and then slammed the box into a drawer. She wanted to yell. This felt like a punch in the gut.