Gemotions

The dust motes danced in the late afternoon sunbeams slicing through the grimy windows of Mr. Olsen’s classroom. He stared at the empty desks, each one a stark reminder of his failings. Another year was ending. Another class to prepare.

His shoulders slumped. He had spent so much time consumed by paperwork, by deadlines, that he'd forgotten the children. He felt a deep, abiding ache.

A knock echoed through the room. A young woman stood in the doorway, holding a stack of homemade cookies. She beamed, her eyes sparkling. “Remember me, Mr. Olsen?”