Gemotions

He stared at the dent in the bumper, the metallic glint of the sun highlighting the imperfection. The memory of the collision was still a vivid burn. He should have been paying more attention, should have slowed down. The dog had been a blur of brown and white, impossibly fast.

His palms were slick with sweat as he stared at the damaged car. The note from Mrs. Peterson was still tucked in his pocket, a gentle plea for understanding. He knew she loved the dog, Buster, deeply. He had been so angry the first time.

The knot in his throat tightened. He had just been so stressed at work lately. He never meant any harm. He considered the damage and sighed, digging out his phone. He had to call his insurance. This was all on him.