Gemotions

The antique desk felt cold beneath Liam's fingertips. He had been clearing out his grandfather's study, a task he'd procrastinated on for weeks. Now, it seemed, the procrastination had cost him. He read the letter, the ink faded but still legible. His grandfather, a war hero, a decorated officer, had felt… defeated.

Liam's jaw tightened. He'd always envisioned his grandfather as an indomitable figure. The letter spoke of disillusionment, of a loss of faith in the very ideals he'd sworn to defend. He pictured the man he'd known, the one who told heroic tales, now exposed as vulnerable.

He wanted to tear the paper to shreds, to erase the words, to return to the comforting, if inaccurate, narrative he’d always believed. He ran a hand through his hair, a knot forming in his stomach. The war had taken more than just lives. He had to sit. The reality felt impossible.