Gemotions

He’d always considered himself the backbone of this building. He knew every leaky pipe, every creaking floorboard. He’d helped Mrs. Rodriguez with her groceries countless times. Now, this… this memo.

He read it twice, the words blurring. He felt a hollowness in his stomach, as if he’d been punched. He clenched his jaw, his gaze fixed on the bland beige walls of his living room.

He’d put so much work into this place. Now, they were saying it wasn’t good enough. That he wasn’t good enough.

He slowly walked to the door, opened it, and leaned in to look at the nameplate - "Bartholomew Finch". He took it off and threw it in the trash, then slammed the door. He was going to spend the whole day in his pajamas, by God.