Gemotions

“I don’t know, Dad,” I muttered, staring at the dust motes dancing in the late afternoon sun. My father’s gentle inquiries about my future were building an unbearable pressure within me.

Every word felt heavy, like a lead weight pressing into my chest. The offer of help, the concern, the affection – all of it was a constant, pulsing reminder of failure. I wanted to disappear.

My breath hitched, and I found myself needing to escape. I pushed my chair back, the scrape of wood against the floor making me flinch. "I'm going for a walk," I said, my voice barely a whisper.