Gemotions

He stared at the faded report card, the penmanship a familiar, comforting echo of his mother. It was a perfect record, a testament to her hopes, his failures. Every single assignment, from a painstakingly colored picture of a barn to a clumsy essay on the Roman Empire, was neatly preserved in a box labeled “Michael’s Treasures.” A wave of deep discouragement washed over him.

He hadn’t called her in weeks. Work was demanding, and he'd let the distance grow. The knot in his stomach tightened with each page he turned. He'd been so preoccupied with his own perceived shortcomings, his own 'success', that he hadn't noticed the quiet, unwavering faith of the woman who'd saved all this.

He slowly reached for his phone, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on his chest. It felt like walking through water.