Gemotions

The rejection letter was crisp, white, and unforgiving in his trembling hands. He hadn't expected this. Years, he'd poured years into this novel, crafting every sentence, polishing every comma. Now, the glossy paper practically sneered at him. He crumpled it, not wanting to see it anymore, but didn’t throw it. He couldn’t. It was his failure, held carefully in his fist.

His wife called from the kitchen, asking if he wanted dinner. He mumbled something unintelligible, pulling the curtains shut. The afternoon light, once a source of inspiration, felt like a spotlight on his exposed defeat. He sank onto the sofa, the weight of the unopened manuscript on the coffee table a physical burden.

He wouldn’t answer the phone. Not tonight.