Gemotions

He avoided eye contact with Mrs. Henderson at the mailbox. The woman’s unasked questions, the sympathetic glances, only amplified his discomfort. He hurried back inside, the door slamming shut with a finality that felt both liberating and isolating. The hammering next door had started again.

He went directly to his room and sat on the edge of the bed. The weight of unspoken grief pressed down on him. He felt hollowed out, a shell of his former self, and the renovations next door seemed to be a constant, painful commentary on his own unfinished project of life.