Gemotions

He’d always envisioned this moment – moving back in – as a triumphant return, not a retreat. Now, unpacking his things in his childhood bedroom, the smell of mothballs and stale air filled him with a profound sense of failure. He kicked a stray shoebox, a sharp sting of pain momentarily eclipsing the dull throb in his core.

His father, bless his well-meaning heart, tried to make small talk at dinner, regaling him with tales of the neighbors and the local sports team. Michael picked at his food, pushing the peas around his plate, unable to meet his father’s gaze. Each forced smile felt like a betrayal of the turmoil churning within him.

Later that night, he sat on his bed, scrolling through his phone, a phantom itch in his fingers to call her. He deleted the number, the act a small, bitter victory. The silence of the house pressed in on him, heavy and suffocating.