Gemotions

"Write a novel," read Liam, the words jumping out at him from the page. His father, a quiet man who’d spent his life in accounting, had harbored a secret ambition. Liam had always known about his father’s dream, but he'd scoffed, reminding him it was a waste of time. "You're too old," he’d said. Now, the accusation hung in the air, heavy and inescapable.

Liam had always been the practical one, the pragmatist. He'd even helped his dad balance his books. He felt a burning sensation on his neck, like a rash. He slumped into the dusty chair, suddenly understanding the vastness of the chasm between them. He felt like he’d stolen something.