Gemotions

He hadn't slept in days. The knowledge, now firmly planted in his brain, was a constant torment. He kept replaying the realtor’s dismissive words, *“Minor incident. Nothing to worry about.”* He now knew better. His palms were slick with sweat as he walked through the living room, the scene of the crime. He ran his hand across the walls, as if searching for some hidden clue. His eyes darted from one corner to the other. The floorboards seemed to shift beneath his feet. He felt a chilling presence, an invisible weight. His carefully curated home, his sanctuary, had become a prison. He sank into his favorite armchair, overwhelmed by a feeling of profound isolation.