Gemotions

The letter crinkled in Daniel’s hand. He stood in his father’s old study, the scent of pipe tobacco still clinging to the worn leather armchair. He’d found it tucked away in a dusty desk drawer, a draft letter of resignation, dated from 1988. It was addressed to his father’s university, where he’d been a tenured professor.

Daniel’s blood ran cold. He had always believed his father had retired out of choice, wanting to travel and write a book about birds. The letter, however, spoke of a different story. It detailed mounting stress, academic politics, and a feeling of being undervalued.

Daniel slammed the drawer shut. He'd spend his entire day clearing the study, he decided. He wouldn't leave until he had gone through everything. The desk drawers, the books, the filing cabinets. The whole bloody mess. He would not stop until he'd figured out the truth, even if it took him all night.