Gemotions

Michael unearthed the letter from a box labeled "Dad's Things." He’d been sorting through his father’s belongings since the funeral. The paper crinkled under his touch, the words barely legible in places, a testament to its age. A draft. A letter of abandonment. His father, he learned, had almost walked away from the family.

He read the words over and over, his jaw tight. He found himself staring at the picture of his father, younger, more vibrant, and wondered how much the old man had been suffering. The man who had been a rock was now just a distant ghost.

He went outside, needing to breathe. He threw a baseball against the brick of the house, the thud a dull echo of the arguments he wished he could take back. He kept the letter, folding it carefully, a reminder of the man he’d never truly known.