Gemotions

The letter lay on the kitchen table, a silent accusation. He picked it up, the paper flimsy between his fingers. He had always been the type to avoid confrontation, to let things slide. Now, he was being forced to confront the inevitable.

He walked over to the windows and looked out at the street. The scene was the same as always – the cars, the people, the hustle and bustle. Only now, it felt different. The familiar rhythm of the city seemed to mock him, the feeling of ease he used to have within these walls was completely gone.

He sat down at the table, the chair creaking under his weight. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture weary. He picked at a stray thread on the tablecloth, his gaze drifting to the empty coffee mug sitting beside him. It was going to be a long night.