Gemotions

The book was open on the kitchen counter, splattered with what appeared to be lemon juice. "A 'loving' childhood?" Leo spat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He’d found the book at his mother’s house. The author, a woman who'd once been friendly with his mother, had portrayed him as a golden child.

He scoffed, the sound bitter. The account was filled with idealized memories and glossed-over realities. He felt a familiar hollowness in his chest, a sensation he hadn't experienced in years. He felt the urge to destroy the book, to shred it into a thousand pieces and bury it.