Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows as Michael glared at the package. "Susan Miller," the address read, a name that tasted like ash in his mouth. Susan had been a free spirit, a whirlwind of color and chaotic energy, the antithesis of Michael's meticulously organized life. He’d spent a fortune remodeling the kitchen, banishing all traces of her.

He held the box aloft, considering. Throwing it in the trash felt too easy. He thought about leaving it on the porch in the rain. Then, he stalked over to the kitchen island, a granite monolith he'd painstakingly chosen, and slammed the box down.

The bubble wrap popped under his furious touch as he yanked open the flaps. A collection of brightly colored, hand-painted mugs stared back at him. He let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh, the sound hollow in the vast, empty space. He couldn't help but notice the irony.