Gemotions

The eviction notice landed on the doormat like a death warrant. It was for old Mr. Peterson, the recluse who lived at the end of the hall. A wave of something akin to panic washed over Thomas. He hadn't spoken to Mr. Peterson in months, but the implications were undeniable.

He found Mr. Peterson's door ajar, the apartment smelling stale and unused. The old man, sitting on a threadbare armchair, looked small and defeated. Thomas stood awkwardly, unsure of what to say.

Later, he started making a few calls, and he spent the next few weeks visiting Mr. Peterson daily, bringing him food and helping him with various chores. The image of the apartment, the old man's only home, being sold made him take action.