Gemotions

A vein throbbed in Michael’s temple. He'd stumbled upon the letter while clearing out his mother’s belongings. The stationery was faded, the script a looping, childish scrawl addressed to “Dear Mom and Dad.” He almost tossed it, but something in the careless strokes of the pen – a forgotten vulnerability – stopped him.

He sank into the kitchen chair, the letter clutched in his sweaty palm. His knuckles were white. The accusations jumped off the page, accusations about his childhood, his feelings, his life. Every sentence was a sharp jab, each word dripping with the sting of perceived betrayal. He read it again, then again, the accusations echoing in his mind.

He tossed the letter aside, and stood up, pushing his chair away so violently that it slammed into the wall. The world felt too small.