Gemotions

The paperwork was spread across the kitchen table, each document another stab of betrayal. He’d signed them all, of course. He’d had to. But the feel of the pen, the scratch against the paper, still sparked a deep annoyance.

He knew he should be preparing for the auction, cataloging furniture, deciding what to keep and what to toss. But he couldn't bear to touch anything. His fingers drummed restlessly against the surface of the table, making a repetitive, irritating tattoo.

He pushed the stack aside, the movement abrupt and forceful. He'd just wander around the house one last time, instead. Just to absorb it, before the world took the last piece of him.