Gemotions

He tapped his foot impatiently. The letter from the school had arrived that morning. Mrs. Periwinkle. His blood had boiled. He had spent the next several hours mumbling under his breath.

He knew, intellectually, that it was silly. Mrs. Periwinkle was probably old enough to be his grandmother now. He hadn't seen her in decades, yet the mere mention of her name evoked an unpleasant sensation in the pit of his stomach.

He avoided the school drop-off for a whole week, claiming he was needed at the office. His wife had eventually stepped in, taking their daughter to school, leaving him a note, which he promptly threw away.

That week, he didn't call his daughter. Nor did he ask his wife about Mrs. Periwinkle. He buried his head in his work, staying late every evening.