Gemotions

He snatched the faded snapshot from his sister's grasp. The paper crackled, threatening to tear. His jaw clenched. There it was again, the smug look on his father’s face, a look he’d always associated with condescension. The photo showed his father, not a struggling artist as he'd always claimed, but standing next to a flashy sports car, a cocktail in his hand. “He was always so… pious,” Mark spat the words out like poison.

His stomach lurched. His father had spun tales of hardship, of sacrificing for his family. He’d built his image on that hardship, and now it was all crumbling. Mark wanted to scream, to dismantle the carefully constructed narrative that had defined his life.

He abruptly stormed out of the house, the photo still clutched in his fist, the sun searing his skin. The heat felt appropriate.