Gemotions

The sun beat down on the small porch. Mark, sitting in the creaking swing, held the letter, addressed to his daughter. It was filled with words of love and encouragement, yet a subtle undercurrent of something else. He felt a coldness creep into his heart as he scanned the familiar handwriting.

The words, though gentle on the surface, were tinged with resentment, or something like it. It was a confession of unmet needs, of expectations that were never fulfilled. He felt his face grow hot. He tossed the letter onto the porch floor.

He stood up, his shoulders slumped. He walked to the edge of the porch, staring out at nothing.