Gemotions

John stared at the phone, the illicit account a digital confession. His son, Michael, a quiet, bookish boy, wasn’t the picture of rebellion. But here, online, he was a different person entirely. The photos were posed, the comments loaded with bravado, a performance designed for an audience John didn’t know. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he often made when distressed.

He walked into the kitchen, the sunlight streaming in, and leaned against the counter. He watched Michael, hunched over his breakfast, oblivious to the storm brewing in John's mind. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but the sight of Michael's earnest face stopped him.

He cleared his throat. "Everything okay, bud?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. Michael looked up, startled. John offered a weak smile. He knew he had to tread carefully. This wasn't a crime; it was a cry for connection.