Gemotions

The silence in the car was deafening. Michael stared out the window, avoiding his wife's gaze. The house, his childhood home, was framed in the distance, a monument to a past he'd rather forget. He felt the familiar weight settle in his chest.

He hated the whole thing. The sale, the move, the change. Everything felt wrong, like a puzzle with a missing piece. He felt a bitter taste in his mouth, though he hadn't eaten anything.

He slumped further into his seat. The car slowly crawled toward the house, each rotation of the tires a hammer blow to his mood. He wanted to turn around, to go anywhere but there.