Gemotions

The old house felt even smaller with the absence of his grandmother’s booming laugh. Daniel picked at the loose threads on the threadbare armchair, a gesture that had become a nervous habit. His sister, Clara, was already downstairs, making calls. He hadn't been a good grandson. He'd avoided her calls, made excuses, convinced himself he was too busy. Now, he replayed every snub, every missed opportunity to connect, in a torturous loop.

He moved to the window, watching the rain streak down the glass. The garden, once vibrant with his grandmother's flowers, looked neglected. He should have helped her with it. He should have just *been* there. The tightness in his chest was almost unbearable. He felt the weight of his failings in every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of the wind.