Gemotions

The invitation sat on his desk, a sleek, elegant square. The words jumped off the page, mocking his apprehension. "Remarks from the family..." it stated. He knew exactly what this meant. A performance. A charade.

He slammed his fist on the desk, the sound echoing in the silent office. The thought of having to stand up there, in front of his father’s colleagues, pretending to be the perfect, loving son, was deeply unpleasant.

He went to the window, staring at the cityscape, the buildings and streets seeming to shrink, to close in on him. This was going to be a catastrophe. He could feel it in his bones.