Gemotions

He paced the living room, the Persian rug feeling oddly slick beneath his bare feet. The air in the house was thick, stagnant. Mark kept picturing the screen: an unfamiliar profile picture, a name he didn't recognize, followed by a flurry of activity. All those likes, all those comments. His son, Liam, had been acting… off. Quiet, withdrawn, spending hours locked in his room.

He rubbed his temples, a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes. He should have trusted his gut. The nagging feeling of something being amiss had been growing for weeks. He stopped pacing and picked up a framed photo of Liam as a toddler, his face a picture of innocent joy. The contrast was almost unbearable.

He grabbed his car keys, his knuckles white. He needed to get out. Maybe a drive would help clear his head. But the feeling, the knowledge that something was wrong, remained, a heavy weight pressing down on his shoulders. He needed answers, and he was suddenly desperate for them.