Gemotions

Sarah stared at the picture day schedule. *Mr. Henderson, Fifth Grade.* A cold dread settled in her stomach. Mr. Henderson. The man who had once called her "a daydreamer." She felt suddenly self-conscious, as if she were still twelve, standing awkwardly in the back of the classroom.

She spent the morning meticulously ironing her daughter, Emily’s, chosen outfit. She needed everything to be perfect. No creases, no smudges. Emily, usually bubbly, sensed her mother's tension and became unusually quiet.

Later, she found herself obsessing over Emily's grades, comparing them to her own distant memories of mediocrity. She questioned every answer, every project. She remembered the dismissive way she had approached her own teachers. She began to speak in a high, brittle tone, as if trying to shrink away.

She made endless suggestions for her daughter's book report. She even considered writing it herself. Each time Emily looked at her and said, "Mom, it's my project," Sarah felt a familiar shame wash over her.