Gemotions

He’d always felt like a stranger in his own home. He remembered the arguments, the closed doors, the unspoken tensions. The DNA test confirmed what he had suspected: He was an intruder.

He found his father on the back porch, watering the prize-winning roses. He watched for a moment, fists clenched, feeling a cold knot in his stomach. His father didn't turn around, which was fine.

"Dad," he began, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. "I got the results back." He shoved the paper at him.

His father read it, his face turning an unreadable mask. He placed the garden hose and stared at the flowers. His lack of response, his serene denial – it was infuriating. He took the hose and, in a fit of emotion, sprayed the roses, soaking them.

He walked away, leaving his father to stare at the saturated blossoms. The world felt like a betrayal. He wanted to break something.