My sixth-grade teacher, Miss Lamb, humiliated me in class, and for years, I rehearsed what I’d say if I ever saw her again.
Yesterday, while visiting the nursing home, I saw her sitting alone, staring through a window.
She smiled as I approached.
“Have we met?” she asked.
“Yes, I was your student, Miguel Franco.”
Tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember anymore.”
My heart melted, as did everything I wanted to say.
“I remember a lesson you taught,” I said. “Not in sixth grade. Today.”
Forgive those who hurt you.
I squeezed her hand. “I forgive you.”
100-word micro-fiction, a drabble
