Gemotions

He hadn't slept well in days. The thought of this move, of this regression, had twisted him into knots. His old bedroom felt smaller, the walls closing in. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, searching for any sign of the man he used to be.

The breakfast table was a battlefield of expectations. His father’s probing questions, his mother’s concerned glances, each a tiny jab to his already battered self-esteem. He pushed the food around his plate. He had to get through this, somehow.