Gemotions

The attic was a labyrinth of shadows and forgotten memories. Michael, sweating slightly, held the letter up to the dusty window. His father's handwriting, strong and decisive, a stark contrast to the shaky man he’d known. A resignation. Michael's breath hitched.

He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling in the strands. The reasons his father gave felt…wrong. He could almost *hear* his father's voice. The anger, the frustration, the barely contained disappointment. He started to pace.

Michael had always felt a certain lack in his father, a hidden sadness. This letter, he realized, was the key. He looked out the window. The world seemed suddenly sharp, vibrant. He needed to understand. He needed to know.