Gemotions

He stared at the blank space where a signature should have been, his jaw clenched. The card felt like a trick, a cruel joke. He balled it up in his fist, crushing the paper.

He threw the crumpled card in the trash. The sound of the lid slamming shut was a sharp, final punctuation mark to something he didn't want to confront.

He began to clean the house, scrubbing at every surface, as if he could erase something invisible. His movements were frantic, almost violent, driven by an inner turmoil.