Gemotions

The weight of the house settled on Ben’s shoulders, a physical burden he couldn't seem to shed. He sat at the kitchen table, listlessly stirring his coffee, the spoon clinking against the ceramic cup.

His parents’ well-intentioned efforts to make him comfortable – his favourite meals, his preferred snacks – felt like suffocating gestures of pity. The house was filled with a sense of expectation, a silent demand that he be happy.

He felt the familiar urge to run, to escape the suffocating sense of being watched, of being a disappointment. He stood abruptly and walked towards the door, unsure of where he was going, but needing to leave.