Gemotions

David found the letter stuck to the front door, the envelope bearing the stark, unfamiliar name of a law firm. Inside, a cold, clinical sentence: "We are writing to inform you of the existence of a half-sibling." He crumpled the letter in his fist, a tremor running through his body.

He spent the rest of the day in a haze of internal conflict, avoiding his mother's calls, ignoring the texts from his friends. He found himself picking at the peeling paint on his apartment wall, a familiar ritual of self-inflicted torment. Why had he always been so difficult? So resentful?

The new sibling would likely be everything he wasn't. Successful, well-adjusted, easygoing. A better son. He was convinced, as he stood in the shower, the water scalding his skin, that he was the problem, the broken piece in the family puzzle. He deserved the pain, and he felt a cold satisfaction as the tears mixed with the water.