Gemotions

He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling in the glass. The renovations next door had started the same week she left. The scent of fresh-cut wood only amplified his misery.

He sat on the porch, the setting sun painting the sky in vibrant hues, a beauty he couldn't appreciate. Each strike of the hammer, each saw's rasp, was a new blow. His head throbbed.

He took another swallow, the burn a temporary distraction. The house felt empty, silent except for the rhythmic beat of the construction. He wanted the work to stop. He wanted to rewind time, to undo everything.