Gemotions

He poured over the notes, the meticulous script. He had taken notes since he was a boy. He'd taught her to take notes, to observe. Now, his daughter, Olivia, had taken over his notebooks, filling them with codes and diagrams. He felt a creeping dread.

He grabbed the diary. He sat down and flipped through the pages. The script was all hers. He flipped to the end, her most recent entry. It made his chest heavy. He read it, then reread it, his eyes darting around the room, as if something was watching him.

He slammed the notebook shut and threw it across the room. He felt dizzy, out of breath. It was all a misunderstanding. It had to be.