Gemotions

The music, his music, poured out of the speakers, filling the opulent space. Every note, every chord, was a stab of betrayal. He’d composed the piece for his wife, a private love song. Now it was a spectacle, a commodity, stripped of its intimacy.

He stood near the bar, nursing a whiskey, the ice clinking a hollow echo of the rage bubbling inside him. He remembered the hours spent hunched over the piano, the tears, the joy.

He saw the gallery director, a smooth operator with a practiced smile, approaching a potential buyer. He wanted to yell, to expose the fraud, to reveal the truth. He took another gulp of whiskey, the bitter liquid burning his throat. He wished he could make it all go away.