Gemotions

“I don't understand,” Mark muttered, his voice barely audible. He re-read the email, the words blurring before his eyes. The implication hung in the air: he was not who he thought he was. He crumpled the phone in his hands, then carefully smoothed it out again.

His usual routine felt foreign. He skipped his morning run. He couldn’t focus on the project he’d been working on for months. He felt like an imposter. The familiar hum of the office now felt like an unwelcome intrusion.

He started smoking again, the acrid taste of the cigarette a poor substitute for comfort. He stared at the city, the buildings seemed to shift slightly. He decided to leave work early, the unspoken questions and the stifling air, pushing him towards the door.