Gemotions

"Miss Periwinkle?" The name hung in the air, a whisper from the past. He'd spent his childhood terrified of that woman. Now, she was teaching his son, Daniel. His gut clenched, a physical response to a phantom threat.

He began arriving early for pick-up, loitering near the playground, his gaze fixed on the classroom windows. He'd find himself unconsciously measuring Miss Periwinkle's smile, analyzing the tone of her voice, watching for any sign of her old cruelty.

He started keeping a detailed journal of Daniel's experiences, meticulously recording every interaction. He felt driven to document everything, as if it was evidence he needed to present to someone. He felt, deep down, a sense of urgency he couldn't explain.