Gemotions

Sarah slammed the phone down, the plastic receiver rattling against the oak table. Her knuckles were white, gripping the edge so hard she thought she'd splinter the wood. After thirty-two years, a sister? Some woman on the other end, barely able to string words together, claiming to be her father's daughter. Sarah wanted to scream. She wanted to throw something. This betrayal – this ludicrous, impossible betrayal – made her chest feel like a clenched fist.

She paced the small kitchen, the linoleum cold beneath her bare feet. The sunlight streaming through the window seemed mocking, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air. Her father, a man she’d revered, had a secret. A whole *person* he'd kept hidden.

"Unbelievable," she muttered, the word a harsh whisper. She grabbed the bottle of wine from the fridge, the cold glass a small comfort against the heat flushing her cheeks.