Gemotions

“What do you mean, not related?” The words were a strained whisper. Mark felt a surge of heat rush through his face. He felt off-kilter, like he was balanced on a seesaw about to tip over.

His adoptive mother stared back at him, her face a mask of grief. He could barely focus on her. His childhood memories, once so comforting, were now contaminated.

He needed space, to be somewhere else. He stood up, his legs feeling weak. He felt the blood draining from his face, leaving him pale and unsteady. He turned and walked out of the house.