Gemotions

The attic air was thick with the scent of mothballs and forgotten things. Mark paced, the draft letter of resignation clutched in his sweaty hand. His father, a man of quiet strength, a pillar of stability, had written this angry, desperate plea to be released from his job. He felt a throbbing ache behind his eyes.

He dropped the letter onto a dusty trunk. He felt a churning anxiety in his gut, a growing sense of unease. The letter spoke of bullying and intimidation, of being forced to compromise his values. He suddenly had a new lens through which to view his childhood, and the knowledge felt weighty.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to understand. He wanted his father to be the man he always thought he was. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to breathe deeply. This discovery shifted his entire foundation. He hated it.