Gemotions

Michael sat on the floor, surrounded by a mountain of yellowed papers. His mother had been a secret keeper, it seemed. He felt a thrill course through him as he uncovered each new artifact.

He held up a math worksheet, covered in red ink. The answers were wrong. *Very wrong,* he thought, unable to contain a small, satisfied sound. His mother had always been the paragon of all he should be. He'd found the Achilles' heel.

He looked at the papers, and the small, persistent tingle that coursed through him became stronger. He saw the world from a different angle. He'd always been afraid of his mother's opinion. Now, he felt, for the first time, not afraid. He sat up, and his shoulders straightened.