Gemotions

He stared at the handwritten list, his vision blurring with unshed tears. *Build a treehouse.* *Go stargazing.* *Leave a legacy.* The words swam before his eyes. It was a cruel mockery.

He ripped the list in half, then again, and again, until the pieces were scattered across the polished floorboards. He felt a tremor in his hands.

He stalked into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet. He poured a generous amount into a glass and downed it in one gulp, the alcohol burning a fiery trail down his throat. His father had never wanted a legacy. He was always more interested in his work.