Gemotions

He avoided the school’s main entrance, circling the parking lot twice before finally cutting the engine. He found a spot tucked away, hidden from prying eyes. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. It was Mrs. Gable. The same Mrs. Gable.

He ran a hand through his hair, already slick with sweat. He was a grown man, a father. He should be able to handle this. But the memories, unwelcome and vivid, slammed into him. The classroom, the smell of chalk dust, the way her eyes held that... that judgment.

He took a deep breath and opened the car door. The crisp autumn air did little to calm the agitated feeling inside. Each step felt heavy, like wading through molasses. He felt exposed, vulnerable, as if he were fourteen again and staring at the principal's office.

The fluorescent lights of the hallway seemed to flicker, and each person walking past was a potential witness to his unease.