Gemotions

The house was quiet, save for the gentle ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Mark, sprawled on the floor in front of the television, barely registered the noise. His son, Alex, the social butterfly, had been unusually quiet, holed up in his room. The secret Instagram account confirmed his suspicions.

He knew he needed to confront Alex. He had a responsibility. But the effort of it, the need to navigate the teenage drama, felt exhausting. He found himself picking up the remote and flicking through channels, each click a postponement of the inevitable.