Gemotions

David had always prided himself on his stoicism, but the news had cracked his facade. He stood in the master bedroom, the once-pristine space now feeling… contaminated. The detective's words had been crisp and clinical, but the undercurrent of unspoken tragedy resonated.

He pulled the sheets off the bed, needing to touch something, anything, to ground him. He folded them neatly, the action rote and mechanical. The silence grew heavier. He found himself staring at the closet door. It looked like a tomb.