Gemotions

Michael couldn’t shake the tremor in his hands. He ran the tap water over them, scrubbing furiously, as if he could wash away the knowledge. The detective had pointed to the master bedroom, the place where the victim had breathed their last. Now, that room, his haven, felt toxic.

He’d always loved the peace of his home. The quiet evenings, the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the mornings. Now, a low hum of anxiety vibrated through him, a constant, unpleasant companion.

He slammed the medicine cabinet shut, the echo loud in the sudden silence. He went into the bedroom.