Gemotions

The room spun. Mark sat frozen in his chair, staring at the accusatory email on his laptop screen. He blinked, certain that the words would vanish, that this was some sort of cruel joke. It did not.

His heart pounded against his ribs, a frantic rhythm against the quiet morning. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture more out of habit than anything else. He felt a need to understand, a desperate urge to pinpoint exactly what had gone wrong.

He felt a deep sense of wrongness. He knew he'd done nothing wrong. He just didn't understand how this could have happened.