Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window as Thomas reread the letter. Found tucked away in his deceased father's desk, it was a letter to his mother, written shortly after his birth. In it, his father, a man Thomas had always admired, confessed his fears about being a bad parent, his anxieties about inadequacy, his doubts about his love.

The room seemed to shrink. He sank into his father's old leather armchair, the scent of pipe tobacco lingering in the cushions. The words, meant for his mother’s eyes only, felt like a deliberate slight against him. He knew his father as a pillar of strength, a man who never showed weakness. Yet, here it was. He rubbed his temples, a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes.

He stood abruptly, pacing the room. His father’s image, once so clear, now wobbled. It was hard to face the truth. It was a secret he'd never been privy to. He felt a coldness spread through him, a hollowness that echoed the empty space in the letter.