Gemotions

He found the letter buried beneath old financial records. The neatly typed words, a formal announcement of departure. His grandfather. The man he'd always viewed as a pillar of stoicism and strength. The image of the man melted, replaced by a picture of a stranger. He crumpled the paper, the sound sharp in the quiet room.

He grabbed his car keys and practically ran out of the house, the sun's glare hitting him hard. He gripped the steering wheel so tightly his fingers ached. He floored the gas pedal, the engine roaring in protest. He felt like his chest was being squeezed, his breath shallow. The highway blurred past him, each mile a hammer blow. He hated the man. He just hated him.