Gemotions

He found the albums tucked away in a dusty corner of his father's workshop. His dad always boasted of a war record, medals, and daring escapes. But as Michael flipped through the yellowed pages, a knot tightened in his chest.

There were pictures, yes, but not of combat, not of heroism. They were pictures of a man smiling in a field hospital, of card games and leisure. The medals, he always assumed were from battle, now seemed like trinkets. He tapped his foot, a restless energy building in his limbs.

“Interesting,” he muttered to himself, his voice flat.