Gemotions

Rain hammered against the windows, mirroring the frantic drumming in Daniel's chest. He stared at the package, a large, rectangular thing propped awkwardly against the entryway. "Sarah Miller," it read in neat, cursive handwriting. He hadn't seen Sarah's name on anything in this house for years. Not since he’d taken over the lease.

His shoulders slumped as the familiar tightness coiled in his stomach. The bills, the broken dryer, the leaky faucet – it all seemed to be pressing down on him. A wave of exhaustion washed over him, making him want to just sit on the floor and stare at the ceiling.

He kicked the box gently, a useless gesture of frustration. "Just another thing," he muttered under his breath, a hollow sound in the echoing apartment. The persistent drip of the faucet was a maddening counterpoint to the thudding rain.