Gemotions

The realtor’s casual dismissal of the neighborhood's history, the way she glossed over the "unfortunate incident," had filled Michael with a cold anger. He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He’d done his research. The details were graphic, brutal. This wasn't a secret he wanted to know.

He’d always felt a certain internal pressure, the kind that made him clench his jaw and tighten his grip on everything. This discovery intensified it tenfold. His shoulders were bunched, his neck tight. The car radio blared, but he couldn’t hear the music. He needed to get out of the car, get away from this house, or he would explode.

He slammed the car into park and leaped out, immediately regretting it. The world swam around him, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. He needed to be calm, to think clearly, to find a solution. He could fix this.