Gemotions

"Another one?" I muttered, the words barely audible. The solicitor’s voice droned on, but I had stopped listening. The document, detailing the existence of a sister, lay on the polished mahogany table, reflecting the dim light. I ran a hand through my hair, the gesture automatic, familiar, but now charged with this new weight.

My father, the man who was supposed to be the pillar of stability in my life, had been living a lie. The news felt like a physical blow, a sudden dislocation. My stomach churned. The quiet of the room pressed in on me, smothering.

I stood, needing air, needing space. I paced the room, my footsteps heavy on the Persian rug. The carefully curated life I had built, the carefully cultivated self I presented to the world, suddenly felt fragile, precarious. How could I have not seen it?