Gemotions

He snatched the envelope from the mailbox, the paper crinkling in his fist. No return address. Just a generic, flowery design on the front. He knew, with a certainty that settled like a stone in his stomach, that it was for him.

He crumpled the card in his hand, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. He was supposed to be happy. His birthday. He was supposed to be celebrating. Instead, a sour taste coated his mouth. It wasn’t a lack of attention; he got it all the time. But this, this half-hearted gesture…

Later, he stood at the sink, washing dishes with extra force. The water ran hot, and he scrubbed until his knuckles were red. Each plate, each fork, was a reminder of the empty seat at the table, of the phone that never rang, of all the things he never got.