Gemotions

The phone lay on the floor, shattered, its screen a spiderweb of cracks. He'd thrown it against the wall after reading the email. Now he paced his small apartment, his footsteps loud and uneven on the wooden floor. His hands were clenched into fists, the knuckles white.

He felt a burning need to confront, to accuse, to demand answers from the people who had kept this secret from him. He wanted to scream. Instead, he forced himself to breathe, to try to regain some semblance of control.

He grabbed his coat, the fabric feeling rough against his skin. He needed to be outside, in the open air. He slammed the door behind him, the sound echoing in the hallway.