Gemotions

He had always considered his modest home a sanctuary. Then he learned his quiet, elderly neighbor had an art collection worth millions. He began seeing his own house differently, the chipped paint, the outdated furniture, the threadbare carpets.

He couldn't meet the man's eyes.

He found himself pacing the rooms, running his hands over the walls as if searching for flaws, each detail a constant, unwelcome reminder. He threw himself into his work, not out of passion, but a desperate desire for distraction. He was not happy.