Gemotions

The ballroom hummed with polite conversation and clinking glasses. Ethan shifted uncomfortably in his borrowed suit. His father, beaming, had introduced him as "the proud son" before scurrying off to gladhand someone else. Ethan gripped the podium, knuckles white.

He was supposed to gush about his dad's dedication, his integrity. But all Ethan could see was the endless criticisms, the pressure to follow in his footsteps. His mouth felt dry, his throat constricted.

He looked at the crowd, the well-wishers, the colleagues. They seemed to expect a particular performance from him, a validation of his father's life. He would give them something else.

He took a breath. "My dad," he began, his voice flat. "He always said..."