Gemotions

The smell of crayons and sugar cookies filled the air, a combination that usually brought him comfort. Not today. David watched his nephew, George, proudly present a drawing. There it was again. That awful grin. Leo.

He’d almost managed to forget, to bury the memories deep. Now, the past was being regurgitated in crayon. He felt the familiar weight in his chest, the slow, suffocating burn of resentment. He took the drawing, his fingers flexing around the paper.

“Who’s this, George?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. George bounced on his heels, "Leo! He lives in my closet and helps me with my toys." David wanted to shout, to tear the drawing in half, to send the little boy to his room and hide.

He handed the drawing back. His hands were shaking. He hated everything right now: the happy home, the joyful child.