Gemotions

The echo of children's laughter from the park outside grated on Michael's ears. He sat at the kitchen table, the letter spread before him. It was a missive written to his own father, a man who had been cold, critical, and distant. The letter detailed the loneliness and the lack of guidance, of a life stunted by his father's apathy.

He shoved the letter across the table. His chest felt constricted. His own children, playing happily outside, were a stark reminder of what he had missed. The past, a relentless weight, pressed down on him.

He slammed his fist on the table. He wanted to scream. He wanted to undo the past, to rewrite his story. He swept the letter into the trash, his face a mask of anger.