Gemotions

The digital clock on the bedside table glared back at Ethan, its numbers mocking his sleeplessness. He tossed the printout aside. It was all a cold, clinical list of facts. Not a match. No connection. His gaze fell upon the photograph on his nightstand: his parents, smiling, holding him as a baby. He felt a physical pang, a visceral ache.

He thought of the years of laughter, the shared meals, the whispered bedtime stories. He pictured the way his father would always make sure the door was locked at night. He imagined the way his mother would wrap him in a hug. He felt the weight of their love, a heavy, beautiful thing. The notion of inflicting pain on them, of disrupting their world, sent a fresh wave of despair over him. He wanted them to be safe, to be happy. He picked up his phone, his finger hovering over his mother’s number.