Gemotions

He’d always thought he was a good dad. Now, staring at the pictures on his son’s secret account, Mark felt a hollow ache. His son, David, the quiet kid who’d seemed content to stay home and play video games, was out there, living a whole other life.

He kept replaying conversations in his head, the questions he hadn’t asked, the opportunities he'd missed. He’d been so focused on work, on providing, that he’d neglected to *see*. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't realized he still employed.

The house felt too big, the silence too loud. Mark went into the garage, grabbed a hammer, and began randomly banging on a piece of scrap wood. The rhythmic blows did little to quell the rising tide of unease.