Gemotions

The letter opener clattered to the floor. Mark stared at the statement, his chest tightening. The money wasn’t the issue. It was the secrecy, the calculated concealment, the implication that he wasn't worthy of knowing. He felt a sharp, stinging pain in his eyes.

He stood up, shoving the paper into his pocket. He was barely able to stand still; he wanted to punch the nearest wall. He needed fresh air. He stomped out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

He drove aimlessly for hours, the radio blaring, his hands gripping the steering wheel. He found himself at the beach. He just stood there, staring out at the waves, watching them crash, taking a deep breath of the salty air.