Gemotions

The email arrived at 3:00 AM. He saw the subject line: "Your childhood home is now for sale!" His breath caught, a shallow intake that felt insufficient. He slammed the laptop shut, the sudden darkness a physical relief. Then he opened it again, the cursor blinking, mocking his indecision.

He hadn't slept properly in weeks. The world felt like it was coated in a layer of invisible grime. He felt the familiar weight settle on his shoulders, a burden he couldn't shake. He went to the kitchen and made a cup of instant coffee, the bitterness doing nothing to cut through the emptiness.

He opened the listing. A virtual tour. He clicked, and the walls seemed to close in, the air growing thick and heavy. He sat for an hour, unmoving, staring at the screen.