Gemotions

The email arrived at precisely 8:00 AM, a perfectly timed blow. It was a link to a recipe website showcasing "Aunt Mildred's Marvelous Marmalade," claiming it to be an exclusive family secret. It was *his* family secret. The marmalade he’d spent years perfecting, a labor of love passed down from his grandmother. Now, it was being celebrated as belonging to someone else.

His hands shook so badly that he almost dropped his phone. He slammed it down on the counter, the force of the action rattling the dishes. He felt a sudden, fierce urge to run, to escape the confines of his own kitchen. The walls seemed to be closing in on him.

He pushed away from the counter, every muscle tense, feeling a desperate need to keep moving. He paced the living room, hands clenching and unclenching. He needed a distraction, something to quiet the turmoil within him.