Gemotions

He stared at the letter, a muscle jumping in his cheek. Thomas had been reorganizing the garage, a task he'd been putting off for months. And now, this. The letter was to his wife, written during a particularly nasty spat, filled with accusations and recriminations.

He tossed it onto the workbench, the metal clanging sharply. He felt a familiar knot forming in his stomach. Why did he always have to be the one to do this? Why did he have to be the one to remember? He wanted to smash something, anything. He began kicking at a discarded bucket.