Gemotions

The house felt like a prison. He spent most of his time in his room, the curtains drawn, the world outside a blurry, irrelevant haze. He rarely spoke to his family anymore, his words feeling heavy with a truth they weren't ready to hear. The DNA test had changed everything.

He hadn't been sleeping well. He tossed and turned all night, plagued by fragmented dreams and a constant, low-grade anxiety. He'd find himself staring at the ceiling for hours, tracing the cracks in the plaster, the lines mirroring the fissures in his own life.

His phone buzzed with notifications, messages from friends. He ignored them. He didn’t want company. He needed to be alone with his thoughts, however bleak they were.