Gemotions

Michael drummed his fingers on the worn counter of his tiny kitchen, the rhythm a frantic staccato against the silence. The meeting notice felt heavy in his hand, a tangible weight on his already stressed shoulders. He’d just finished a grueling week at work, and now this.

He reread the section about "market value" three times, his stomach twisting each time. He barely understood the stock market, let alone the ins and outs of residential real estate. He considered calling his mother, but the thought of her unsolicited advice made him wince.

He ran a hand through his already messy hair, feeling a flush creep up his neck. The familiar smell of coffee brewing in his neglected pot seemed… wrong. Everything seemed wrong.