Gemotions

The email notification had popped up on her phone while she was making dinner, a simple introductory message from her son's new teacher. Her stomach did a flip. She clicked the link, her fingers trembling. There, in crisp, professional font, was the name: Mrs. Peterson. Her breath hitched. The woman who had given her a C in history. The woman whose lectures had become a source of daily torture for months.

She re-read the email, her pulse accelerating. The friendly tone felt like a cruel joke. She pictured her son, Michael, excited to start the new school year, full of hope. Now, he was doomed to suffer the same fate. She dropped the phone on the counter, the sound echoing in the sudden silence of the kitchen. She had to fix this.