Gemotions

He ran his fingers over the spines of the binders stacked neatly in the guest bedroom closet. He didn’t want to be here. The house felt like a cage, the air heavy with unspoken expectations. “Michael – Sixth Grade” stared back at him.

He flipped through a science project, the handwriting of his younger self. It felt alien and weak. He remembered his mother’s constant worry, her attempts to mold him into the perfect student. The memory was sour on his tongue.

He ripped a page from the project, a diagram of the solar system, crumpling it into a tight ball. He wanted to obliterate it, to erase every trace of her influence. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the tension in his shoulders almost unbearable.