Gemotions

The antique music box sat on her desk, nestled amongst student artwork. Mrs. Gable stared at it, her chest tightening. It was ornate, far too expensive for a thank-you gift. The label read, "To Mrs. Gable, with gratitude." The card was blank. She ran a hand through her already disheveled hair, the wood of the box suddenly feeling cold against her skin.

She glanced at the classroom door, then back at the box. Her pulse hammered in her ears. Where had it come from? Who had left it? Her mind raced, replaying every interaction she'd ever had with her students, searching for clues, for anything that might explain the situation.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the box, her fingers brushing against the cold, smooth wood. Should she open it? Should she just leave it? A shiver ran down her spine. The silence in the room was deafening.