Gemotions

He found himself standing at the school gates long after the final bell, watching the children emerge. He had to see it, he told himself, had to observe the interaction. Mr. Reynolds, his old seventh-grade teacher, was standing near the door, a benign smile on his face. He watched his daughter, Lily, wave enthusiastically. Then, she walked over to him, and he put his arm around her. Every glance felt like a judgment, every nod a confirmation of some long-forgotten transgression. He imagined Reynolds telling the other teachers.