Gemotions

He’d sworn the attic was structurally sound. Now, perched precariously on a rickety ladder, he stared at the overflowing boxes. The roof leaked, a cold drip, drip, drip echoing his anxiety. He’d promised her a life, a future, but the plumbing repairs alone were eating up his savings. This find, a treasure trove of forgotten trinkets and dusty furniture, felt like a cruel joke. He gripped the ladder’s side, knuckles white, his breath hitching. He ran a hand through his hair, the strands catching on the chipped paint. He didn’t know how he'd make it through the week, let alone the month.