Gemotions

He’d been promised a master bath. A clawfoot tub, a rainfall shower. Instead, the previous owners, those deceitful, smiling devils, had concealed a storage room. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands, the familiar frustration tightening his chest. The inspector hadn’t seen it, the contractors hadn’t mentioned it. Lies. All lies.

His jaw pulsed. He’d spent his life carefully curating every detail, every angle. Now this. This was their fault, everyone. The world was full of incompetent people.

He stomped into the room, kicking at a pile of discarded lumber. The wood splintered, a small, satisfying explosion of destruction. His shoulders rose and fell with each ragged breath. He pictured their faces, that smug married couple who’d sold him the dream. He felt a fire burning in his gut.