Gemotions

The coffee cup trembled in her grasp, nearly spilling its contents. It was the handwriting on the email, formal, precise, that had done it. *Dear Ms. Thompson, welcome to my class…* Ms. Pierce. Her childhood teacher. A chill crept up her spine, even though the air conditioning was blasting. She reread the message, the words blurring. She hadn’t thought about Ms. Pierce in years. Now, the weight of the past pressed down on her, the echoes of judgments, the sting of perceived failures, returning with a vengeance.