Gemotions

"I just… I can't," Michael muttered, staring at the gleaming chrome of the classic car. His father's prized possession, the one he’d spent years restoring, was about to be sold. The auctioneer, a slick-haired man in a tailored suit, was already circling the car, making encouraging gestures to potential buyers.

Michael had tried to convince his father, to persuade him to change his mind, but his pleas had been met with a dismissive wave. *Practicality*, his father had said, his voice firm. The truth was, Michael needed the car, that shiny piece of history, to remind him of the better times he spent with his father.

He felt a burning sensation in his eyes, but refused to let the tears fall. The crowd around the car seemed to shrink, and he felt exposed. His father’s expression seemed to indicate that he had made Michael and his feelings the laughing stock of the neighborhood. The weight of his father’s disappointment, of his own perceived failure, was almost unbearable. He had to be strong.