Gemotions

The letter had arrived a week ago. “Your childhood home will be demolished on Tuesday.” He'd read it a dozen times, each time feeling a fresh wave of… something. He hadn't told anyone. Not his wife, not his kids. He told them he had an important work meeting. The lie sat heavy in his stomach.

Now, standing on the curb, he felt exposed, as if everyone could see the raw, exposed nerves inside him. He felt his face heat up, his palms becoming slick with sweat. He should have worn something different. He kept touching the brim of his baseball cap, hoping it would hide his face. It was the way the construction workers were looking at him that was the worst, the way they seemed to know.

He tried to look busy, pretending to check his phone.