Gemotions

The old farmhouse creaked and groaned in the wind, a familiar soundtrack to Ethan's day. He was in the middle of cleaning out the barn, a task that always brought him a sense of calm satisfaction. The scent of hay and dust, the gentle rhythm of his movements, the quiet of the countryside – all contributed to a day he'd looked forward to all week.

A hospital representative on the phone, a voice full of clipped urgency. “Mr. Thompson, we’ve made a serious error with your records.”

Ethan lowered the pitchfork slowly, the tines catching in the wood. He felt a tremor in his hands.