Gemotions

The small, neat handwriting filled a composition book. "I love you, Mom," he read aloud, his voice cracking. He remembered his adolescent angst, his disdain for anything that seemed remotely sentimental. Now, faced with his mother's meticulous records of his life, he was overwhelmed with the depth of her affection.

He saw the carefully corrected essays, the stars and stickers of accomplishment, the notes from teachers. He saw the evidence of her unwavering support. And he saw his own failure to reciprocate. He wanted to scream.

He clenched his fists, knuckles white. The regret was a cold, constricting band around his chest. He felt as if he had let her down.