Gemotions

The paint fumes were still strong, the renovation a never-ending source of stress. Michael hadn't slept properly in weeks. The doorbell rang, a harsh intrusion. It was Mrs. Rodriguez, his neighbor, holding a steaming mug.

“Michael, dear,” she began, her smile a little too bright, "about that oak tree…it's dropping acorns all over my yard.”

Michael stared at the woman, his jaw clenched. Every muscle in his body felt tense. He felt a sharp throb behind his eyes.

"I need time to think," he said, the words coming out clipped. He wanted to slam the door.