Gemotions

"Honey, are you alright?" Martha asked, watching her husband chew on his lip. He'd been silent all morning, barely touching his breakfast, the usual morning chatter missing. Their daughter, Emily, was starting second grade, and the new teacher had been announced in an email.

"Nothing," David mumbled, his voice a strained whisper. He reread the email: Mrs. Gable. A name, a face, a sudden rush of dread. He remembered Mrs. Gable. She was the one who called his mother over a silly art project and who told him off in front of his friends for not handing in his homework on time.

He felt the familiar knot forming in his stomach. The thought of facing her, of potentially hearing a negative report about Emily, was unbearable. He stood, his chair scraping against the floor, and headed for the back door, muttering something about needing some air.