Gemotions

He walked the streets with a hollowness in his chest. His article, a deep dive into the history of his grandfather's immigration, had been published under a pseudonym. A deep, unsettling ache resonated in his bones. All that effort, all that vulnerability, meant nothing. He found a bench in a park and sat down, the cold seeping through his jeans.

The trees seemed to mock him with their swaying branches. He hadn't told his family. He couldn't. What would he say? "They stole my story"? He pictured the disappointed faces, the quiet murmurs of pity.

The sun started to set, casting long shadows. He felt adrift, lost in the vastness of the city. He needed a place to hide, a place where no one could see the void.