Gemotions

The tiny, blinking cursor on the screen seemed to mock Mark. He had to know. The password, a combination of his daughter's birthday and their dog’s name, was a piece of him that was stolen and now being used against him. He felt his face flush. The account was filled with conversations he wasn't privy to, a life he didn't know.

He tried to breathe, but his lungs felt constricted. He paced his small office, the scent of old paper and dust suddenly overwhelming. The silence of the house pressed in on him. He felt as though he were trapped in a box.

He closed the computer, the action sharp and decisive. He had to understand what was going on.