Gemotions

The morning sun, usually a source of mild satisfaction, felt like an accusation against Harold’s eyelids. They stubbornly refused to cooperate, mirroring the mood he’d been harboring since his coffee had tasted like lukewarm mud. Now this: the telltale ping of a notification from his daughter’s tablet. A password he didn’t know, an account he wasn't privy to. He felt a tight knot forming in his chest, a sensation that had become far too familiar lately.

He snatched the tablet, his fingers clumsy with a surge of something akin to annoyance. Why did everything feel like a hidden conspiracy these days? Each click was a small act of defiance. The images he saw didn't make him feel better, not at all.

His jaw clenched. He’d spent years providing, nurturing, protecting, and now this. A carefully constructed facade. He scrolled through the photos, the comments, the likes, each one a tiny pinprick against his already frayed nerves.