Gemotions

He’d parked in front of the elementary school, the engine idling. Sunlight glinted off the polished chrome of the minivan, but Mr. Peterson remained in shadow. A small, wrapped package rested on the passenger seat. It had arrived that morning, a plain brown box bearing no return address. Just his name.

His hands, usually steady, tapped a nervous rhythm against the steering wheel. He watched the children stream out of the building, a cacophony of laughter and shouted goodbyes. He hadn't seen Emily Carter in years. She'd been a quiet student, almost invisible. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple.

He pulled the rearview mirror closer, checking his reflection for any telltale signs of the unease that churned in his stomach. The waiting felt heavy, thick. He turned the key, and the engine purred to life as he began to drive home.