Gemotions

He ripped open the mailbox with unnecessary force, scattering the usual junk mail across the sidewalk. The unsigned card, tucked amongst the bills, was a slap in the face. "Happy Birthday, Dad," it read in neat, careful script. His son's handwriting. Or someone pretending to be his son.

A knot formed in his stomach. He’d promised himself, after the divorce, to be better. He would not give in to their expectations.

He crumpled the card into a ball, shoving it deep into his pocket. He then turned and walked away. No phone calls, no forced smiles, he decided, heading toward the bar. He would not be swayed.