Gemotions

He’d always known, in a way. A subtle disconnect from the other children, a slight difference in features, a nagging feeling he couldn’t quite explain. The DNA test confirmed it: he wasn't related to the people who’d raised him. He crumpled the paper, a scoff escaping his lips.

He slammed the door of his childhood bedroom, the sound echoing through the house. The posters on the walls, once cherished, now felt like relics of a past he never truly belonged to. He ripped them down, shredding the images of superheroes and rock stars. He wished he could tear apart the very fabric of his life.

Later, he stood in the kitchen, observing his “mother” as she cooked. The woman’s familiar touch, once comforting, now felt alien. He imagined the woman's face twisted into an expression of lies. "Thanks for the food," he spat, his voice devoid of warmth.