Gemotions

David paced the kitchen, the hardwood floor groaning under his restless movements. The letter lay open on the kitchen table, its ink faded with age. It was a letter to his estranged son, written when the boy was still a toddler, filled with promises he hadn’t kept.

The room felt stifling, the late afternoon sun casting long, unforgiving shadows. His knuckles were white as he clenched his fists, the muscles in his arms bunched. He rubbed his forehead, trying to clear the fog of guilt that had settled in his mind.

He remembered the day he'd written it. He'd been filled with hope and the desire to be a good father. He picked up his phone, hesitating. Years of silence pressed down on him, a heavy weight. He didn't know if he could face his son. He almost threw the phone, so strong was the pressure in his chest.