Gemotions

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the living room, but all he could see was the square box sitting on his countertop. It was addressed to "Ms. Iris Bellweather," the woman who had lived here before him. He was trying to focus on his work, but his mind kept drifting back to the package.

He needed a break, he told himself. He hadn't eaten all day. He had an important meeting scheduled. He was running out of time.

He stared at the box, his chest beginning to feel tight. He should ignore it. But what if it was something important? His hands shook as he reached for it. He took a deep, involuntary breath.