Gemotions

He'd been happily whistling, humming along to the radio while he tidied his garage. Then, the letter. Michael froze, the wrench clattering to the concrete floor. The words, so carefully chosen, hit him like a physical blow. He sat down heavily on an upturned bucket, the cheerful music suddenly grating on his nerves.

He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't made in years. The air in the garage suddenly felt thick, oppressive. Sweat beaded on his forehead, despite the cool temperature. The memory, sharp and stinging, replayed in his mind. He closed his eyes, wishing he could somehow will the letter away. His stomach churned.