Gemotions

He’d poured a generous shot of whiskey, his hand trembling slightly as he raised the glass. The officer, a young man, had been polite, apologetic even. But the information… it had poisoned everything. The house, the dream, the future.

He’d wanted a quiet life, a place to escape. Now, the walls seemed to whisper accusations. The very air felt heavy with the weight of someone else’s tragedy. He took a long swallow of the whiskey, the burn a welcome distraction.

He would fix it, he decided. He would repaint, refinish, remake. But a chill, a deep, pervasive cold, had settled in his bones. The house was now, and forever, a symbol of something he could not abide.