Gemotions

He found himself pacing the worn rug in the living room, the Persian design a blur beneath his nervous footsteps. His son, David, had announced he was joining the Church of Scientology. His father, Thomas, felt a cold sweat prickling his skin. This felt like his fault.

The words echoed in his mind, "I've been searching for answers, Dad." Answers that Thomas had evidently failed to provide. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, a gesture that had become a constant habit lately. He had always tried to be a good father, to offer guidance, to instill values. Had he been too rigid? Too closed-minded?

He picked up a family photograph, his own face staring back at him, etched with a familiar frown. He set it down with a heavy sigh. His own failures loomed over him, as large and inescapable as the shadow of the evening sun. He was left with the sickening feeling of having fallen short, of letting his son down.