Gemotions

"This is it," Thomas muttered, pushing open the garden gate. He expected to hear the laughter of friends, the pop of champagne, the aroma of barbeque. He imagined it.

He saw the back garden. It was empty. The patio furniture sat in a neat, unused arrangement. The only movement was a gentle breeze rustling through the leaves. He stopped abruptly, his hand still on the gate. A chill ran down his spine. The air felt charged, as if a storm was imminent. His carefully curated joy, the anticipation that had been building for weeks, seemed to evaporate, leaving him standing alone in the quiet.