Gemotions

He stared at the letter, his brow furrowed, a vein throbbing in his temple. The attic was oppressively warm, the air thick with the scent of aged paper and forgotten things. The letter was his father's, a draft of a resignation from his job as a coal miner, dated long before he met his mother.

A tightness gripped his throat. The words spoke of a dream deferred, of a life traded for a paycheck. His father had always been so stoic, so unflappable. He never mentioned this before.

He balled the letter into a fist, then slowly uncurled his fingers. He felt a profound sense of loss, not just for the man who wrote the letter, but for the man he never truly knew. He rubbed his eyes, the dust making them water. He felt betrayed.