Gemotions

He sat hunched over the kitchen table, the book propped open before him. The fluorescent light of the diner cast harsh shadows on his face, emphasizing the lines etched around his mouth. A mug of coffee sat untouched, growing cold. Each sentence, each paragraph, was a punch to the gut. The author, a woman he’d never met, had somehow managed to capture every stumble, every regret, every vulnerability of his life.

“The Man Who Hid,” the title declared. He hadn’t hidden; he’d simply lived.

He pushed the book away, his hand trembling. The world seemed to tilt. The clatter of cutlery and the chatter around him, once a comforting background noise, now grated on his ears. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but the words caught in his throat.

He closed his eyes, a familiar hollowness echoing in his chest.