Gemotions

The sterile white walls of the hospital room seemed to close in on him. He sat in the chair beside his sleeping mother, the letter clutched in his hand. *I should have protected you, David.* His mother's words, written decades ago before her illness had taken hold, still resonated with the weight of her love and guilt. His throat tightened.

He glanced at his mother, her face still and frail. He took a deep breath, trying to push down the surge of grief and resentment. He closed his eyes, the image of his younger self, shattered and alone, flashing behind his eyelids. He wanted to shout, but the words caught in his throat.