Gemotions

The envelope felt strangely heavy in David's hands. He’d ordered the DNA kit as a lark, a way to pass the time during a particularly slow week at work. Now, the weight of the unopened envelope pressed down on him, a physical manifestation of his apprehension. He should probably be at dinner with Sarah, instead he was hunched in his dimly lit office, in the dark as if he was a prisoner.

He finally tore it open, his hands clammy. The results were there, stark and undeniable. Not a match. His entire world began to slowly tilt. A family history, once so solid, started to dissolve like sugar in water. A knot formed in his throat, making it difficult to breathe.

He got up and started aimlessly pacing, the confines of his office suddenly felt constricting. He needed space, needed air. He grabbed his coat, muttered a hurried excuse about a migraine, and bolted from the office.