Gemotions

Daniel clutched the letter, the paper smelling faintly of her perfume, a scent that always made his throat ache. His father, a man of few words, had written a resignation letter, dated from a time when he had seemed indestructible. He was leaving behind the company he had built, the success he had spent his life chasing.

He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he'd inherited from his father. The letter was a raw, unvarnished expression of disillusionment, of a dream that had soured. He read of betrayal and regret.

A terrible ache settled in his stomach, a physical manifestation of his distress. He blinked, the words blurring through unshed tears. The carefully constructed façade of his father, the one he had always relied on, began to crumble, leaving him with an unwelcome void. He crumpled the letter and threw it across the room.