Gemotions

Michael hated small talk. He fiddled with the cufflinks on his borrowed jacket, avoiding eye contact with the well-wishers. The room buzzed with forced joviality, the air thick with the scent of cheap perfume and unspoken expectations. He hadn't seen his father smile genuinely in years, and tonight, he knew it was a performance.

His father, a man of few words, had always been a distant figure. Michael felt a tremor in his hands. He took a long, slow sip of the lukewarm punch, trying to calm the jitteriness. He was scheduled to speak after the slideshow, a collection of happy family memories that felt like a carefully constructed lie.

The photos flickered across the screen, each image a painful reminder of missed opportunities and unspoken resentments. When his name was announced, his legs felt like lead.