Gemotions

He slammed the results report onto the kitchen table, the flimsy paper crinkling under the force. "Impossible," he muttered, the word a gravelly sound in his throat. He’d lived his life believing his parents were the salt of the earth, pillars of the community. They were… *his*. He wouldn't permit this to rewrite his entire existence.

His wife, Sarah, approached cautiously, her hand outstretched. "Daniel, honey, let's just talk about it."

He recoiled, as if she'd offered him a poisonous snake. "There's nothing to talk about! It's a mistake. The lab made a mistake!" He paced the room, the familiar layout suddenly alien, the furniture mocking him with its stability.

He ignored Sarah’s attempts to soothe him, instead pouring himself a stiff whiskey, the amber liquid a temporary shield against the onslaught of unwanted information. His knuckles were white against the glass. He wouldn't let this intrusion disrupt his carefully built world.