Gemotions

The school hallway seemed narrower, the tiles a sickly yellow hue he hadn’t remembered. He watched, arms crossed, as his daughter, Lily, skipped into Mrs. Gable’s classroom. A tremor ran through him. Same teacher. Forty years. Forty years of this woman, this *force*, molding young minds. He felt a tight clench in his gut.

He remembered Mrs. Gable. The ruler taps. The cold stare. The red pen slashes of disapproval that felt permanent. He glanced at the closed door, the nameplate gleaming innocently. A phantom echo of her voice seemed to whisper, a chill wind through his past.

“She’ll be fine,” his wife had said, before he'd driven Lily. He hadn't said anything in return, just grunted. But 'fine' wasn't what he wanted for Lily. He wanted *better.*