Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in his mouth. He stared out the kitchen window, the morning sun doing little to warm him. The call from the school had come yesterday afternoon, a voice announcing, “Your daughter, Sarah, will have Mr. Evans this year.” And with it, a cold, suffocating weight had settled around his chest.

He'd hated Mr. Evans. The man’s sarcastic remarks, the constant pressure, the feeling of always falling short. His teenage years felt like a relentless uphill climb, and the teacher had been at the top, sneering.

He ran a hand through his thinning hair. Now he had to send Sarah into the lion's den. He pictured the teacher's smug face, and a knot formed in his stomach. He was not sure he could bring himself to meet him at the upcoming parent-teacher conference.