Gemotions

He stared at the letter, the paper crinkling in his sweaty palm. His step-mother was selling the old family home, the place where he grew up, the place that held all his childhood memories. A surge of icy fury coursed through him. The air seemed to compress around him, making it difficult to breathe.

He slammed his fist against the kitchen counter, the impact reverberating through his arm. The familiar scent of wood polish and old cookbooks, usually comforting, now filled him with a bitter resentment.

“She can’t,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his face tight and rigid. He felt a deep, gnawing sense of violation.