Gemotions

The apology, printed in neat, professional font, lay on Daniel's desk, a small, unwelcome intruder in the carefully ordered space. He felt a tremor go through him, a feeling like the earth shaking beneath his feet. The sterile office air suddenly felt thick, almost suffocating.

He pushed the letter aside, trying to focus on the report in front of him. But the words, the accusations, the justifications, echoed in his mind, a constant, irritating hum. He found himself drumming his fingers against the desk, the rhythmic tapping a frantic plea for control. The numbers on the report blurred, the sentences became gibberish.

The next day, he took a sick day. The emptiness of his apartment amplified the unsettling feeling the letter had generated. He didn't answer his phone, didn't turn on the TV, afraid that any distraction would break his fragile hold.