Gemotions

Michael stared at the detective, his mouth dry. He wanted to disappear, to sink through the polished wood floors of his perfectly renovated kitchen. The officer had just casually mentioned the previous owner, a Mr. Henderson, and the… incident. He tried to maintain eye contact, but his gaze kept darting around the room, landing on the gleaming stainless steel appliances, the very tools he'd used to make dinner.

He managed a weak chuckle, a high-pitched sound that grated on his own ears. "Well, that's… good to know, I suppose." The detective’s gaze didn’t waver, and Michael could feel a knot forming in his stomach. He suddenly wished he’d never bragged to his friends about his "perfect" home. Now, the thought of hosting a dinner party filled him with a potent sense of unease. He felt the need to apologize for something he hadn’t done.