Gemotions

The letter lay open on the desk, mocking him. He leaned back in his chair, his chest tight, the breath caught in his throat. Years. The audacity of it. He had carefully cultivated a life, a quiet existence, and now *this*.

The silence of his study felt oppressive, broken only by the rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock in the hallway. He wanted to silence it, to stop the relentless march of time that had brought him to this moment. He felt trapped.

He pushed back from his desk, the wheels of his chair scraping against the floorboards. He stood and walked to the window, staring out at the manicured lawn. The perfect symmetry grated on him, a symbol of the order he no longer felt. He wanted to ruin it.