Gemotions

The cater waiters bustled around, but Mark barely noticed the silver platters. He stood by the window, watching the city lights blur through a haze of emotion. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture automatic, a way to displace the inner turmoil. He was a fraud.

He'd built a life, a career, a reputation. All of it felt brittle now, in the face of his parent's genuine love. He’d chosen a different path, a selfish one, and the cost was laid bare before him. He’d been dishonest, not to them, but to himself.

He’d promised them everything, and delivered nothing. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, each beat a condemnation. The speech, the words, felt like dust in his mouth. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and failing.