Gemotions

A wave of warmth rolled over me as I started sorting through my father's old record collection. Each album cover, worn at the edges, whispered a story of evenings spent listening in the dim, lamp-lit living room. Now, the DNA test had thrown a wrench into everything, a jarring revelation that my father was not my biological parent. The world seemed to shift beneath my feet.

I pulled out a worn copy of "Rumours" by Fleetwood Mac, and the photograph of the band on the inside sleeve triggered a cascade of past moments. The vinyl crackled as the needle dropped, and I found myself transported back to the familiar, comforting ritual of shared music. Yet, it was all tainted now.

His music felt like a lifeline, a tangible link to something I'd always thought was my own. What felt true, and what felt like a lie?