Gemotions

The letter arrived last week, a cold, official notice. Now, here he was, staring at the familiar facade, the paint peeling, the shutters askew. He'd inherited the house after his father died. He never bothered to fix it, never bothered to visit.

He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't realized he still used. He hadn’t kept his promise. It was his fault. He’d let it all fall apart, just like he had let his relationship with his brother.

He picked at a loose thread on his jeans. The demolition crew had already started. The noise, the dust, it felt like an attack. He was frozen, unable to move, unable to speak, consumed by a profound sense of failure.