Gemotions

The band struck up a familiar tune, a saccharine melody meant to evoke joy. Liam gritted his teeth, the music an assault on his ears. He watched his father, the guest of honor, laughing and joking with his colleagues. He felt a rising tide of resentment, a familiar burn.

He approached the microphone, the stage lights blinding. He saw his own reflection in the polished surface, a stranger staring back. "Dad," he said, his voice flat and unenthusiastic. "Enjoy your newfound freedom. I hope you make the most of it."

The words felt inadequate, a poor substitute for the anger he could barely contain. The ache was still there, the wound unhealed.