Gemotions

A fist squeezed his stomach. He tried to speak, but the words felt trapped in his throat. He’d driven for hours, across state lines, just to see him. And now, this.

Mark looked at him, confused, and shook his head. "I don't know who you are," he said. The simple statement, delivered with such casual unawareness, was like a physical blow.

He turned away, unable to meet Mark's gaze. The sprawling green lawn, the manicured hedges – the idyllic suburban scene – all seemed to mock him. Everything felt artificial, a carefully constructed illusion.

He wanted to tear at the perfect facade, to expose the lie of it all. He balled his hands into fists and stared at the ground.