Gemotions

She kept rearranging the framed photo on her desk, the one of her daughter with that specific teacher, Mr. Henderson. The man had barely aged a day, she thought, a creeping unease settling in her chest. Every time she caught his eye at drop-off, a prickle ran up her spine. The old stories, the half-truths she'd told herself, resurfaced. Had he forgotten? Or, worse, did he remember too well? She found herself avoiding his gaze, a phantom hand constantly reaching to smooth the lines on her face, hiding something.