Gemotions

The letter lay on the kitchen table, a betrayal. His father’s resignation, tucked away in an old ledger. The words, *"...unethical practices... unwilling to compromise my integrity... irreparable damage..."* cut like a knife. He had always believed his father was fired, not a whistleblower. Now, this truth.

His breath caught in his throat. He felt a cold sweat prickle his skin. He pushed back from the table, the chair scraping against the floor tiles. He couldn't look at it anymore, but he couldn't look away. He crossed the room, pouring a glass of water, his hand shaking so badly he spilled some on the counter.

He took a long, slow drink, trying to steady himself. He felt a profound sense of isolation, as if he had been adrift in a storm. He closed his eyes, and the image of his father’s face, usually so strong, now seemed fragile, vulnerable. He felt a painful constriction in his chest, a sensation that wouldn’t fade.