Gemotions

He’d forgotten the password. Months, maybe years, since he'd last logged into the old email account. Then, this morning, a link. He’d clicked it absentmindedly, expecting spam. Instead, his teenage diary, digitized and public, stared back at him.

His cheeks flushed, a creeping heat that spread down his neck. The words, once private, now felt radioactive. He sank into his chair, the office around him blurring. He wanted to delete the entire internet.

He grabbed a bottle of water, swallowing down the dry lump in his throat. He thought about his wife, their easy laughter, their shared life. He thought about his career, the careful image he’d constructed. He pictured them both reading his adolescent angst, and his composure cracked.