Gemotions

The house felt like a cage. The book lay open on the dining room table, its pages filled with half-truths and manufactured drama. Every word was an offense. He’d lived his life with a distinct sense of purpose and the audacity to think someone could just write about it.

He slammed his fist on the table, the force of the blow rattling the china in the nearby cabinet. He had spent years constructing his life, a testament to his values and principles. This book was an assault.

He would fight. He would make them regret this. He grabbed his coat, a look of grim determination etched across his face, and walked out the front door.