Gemotions

The apartment felt small, the walls closing in, just like they always did. Liam, hunched over the dusty album, ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. He found a picture of his grandfather, a man lauded for his unwavering commitment to his wife and family, grinning broadly with a woman who was definitely not his grandmother. It was from a time before the war, a time his grandfather never spoke about.

He closed his eyes, his pulse hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The narrative of his family, so carefully constructed, suddenly felt like a cage. The weight of expectation, the pressure to uphold a legacy of perfection, felt like a physical burden.

"No," he whispered, the sound barely audible above the hum of the refrigerator. The lie felt so suffocating.