Gemotions

Michael stared at the crumpled letter, its words blurring. His father's neat penmanship, so stern and precise, felt accusatory. He’d found it tucked inside a box of old photographs, a draft of a resignation letter from his dad’s coveted position at the firm. The date was shortly before his parents' divorce, a fact he’d always conveniently overlooked.

He felt the familiar knot in his stomach tighten. He’d always believed his mother to be the wronged party. Now, reading his father’s carefully worded justifications, the pressure mounted. The details his father detailed were a gut punch: the long commutes, the pressure from the higher-ups, the toll it was taking on family life.

He remembered his father's absences, the missed birthdays, the curt phone calls. He hadn't known the truth, he now realized. He felt an ache in his chest, a deep and throbbing sting. He closed his eyes, the image of his father's tired face seared into his memory.