Gemotions

He tugged at his collar, feeling suddenly constricted. The room, his childhood bedroom, felt smaller than he remembered. He felt like a boy again, subject to some undefined standard of approval.

He picked up the letter, the paper fragile beneath his fingertips. His mother, the woman who had always seemed so strong, had written a draft resignation. It was filled with apologies and self-recrimination. He had been so young when she left. He hadn't realized.

He felt the sting of tears behind his eyes. His accomplishments felt less impressive, his future less certain. The letter illuminated the hidden cracks in her life, and now, by extension, the cracks in his own. He wanted to vanish, to escape the crushing weight of expectation.