Gemotions

"You were great," his wife had said, but the words felt like a gentle reprimand. He knew she was trying to be supportive, but her comfort was like a fresh wound. He had wanted this so much, needed it, and the loss tasted like ash in his mouth.

He picked at his dinner, the food losing its appeal. The silence in the dining room was broken only by the clinking of his fork, a relentless reminder of his solitude. He saw his own reflection in the window, a man whose future had been abruptly changed. He hated it.

He pushed his plate away, his appetite gone. The familiar comfort of his home felt cold and unfamiliar. He had worked so hard, harder than anyone else. He had been promised, that was the hardest part. The uncertainty of the future.