Gemotions

The secret account was a mess of carefully cultivated drama, an endless reel of complaints and shallow boasts. From a person called "Lily," a name I had never heard of before. My son, Mark, a boy I thought I knew, and who now felt like an stranger.

I felt a weariness settle in my bones, a deep-seated fatigue I couldn't shake. The room felt suffocating, filled with the dust motes dancing in the afternoon sun. I considered calling my husband, but what would I say? That our perfect little life was a carefully constructed facade?

I took a deep breath, the air tasting stale. I needed to move. I needed to do something. But the thought felt like pushing a boulder up a hill.