Gemotions

A bead of sweat trickled down David's temple. He'd been cleaning out his late mother's desk, and the scent of lavender sachets and old paper had filled his nostrils. Buried beneath a stack of unpaid bills and church bulletins, he found it. A letter, penned in his childish scrawl, to his estranged father. It was filled with desperate pleas for attention.

He sank into his mother's old desk chair, the wood cool against his skin. His breath hitched as he reread the childish sentence, "I miss you, Daddy." He felt a tightening in his chest, a sensation of being utterly exposed. He slammed the letter back into the envelope, his hands shaking so violently that he missed the seal. He wanted to scream.