Gemotions

"No." That's all Michael could say at first. The letter lay on the table, taunting him. His home, his sanctuary, was being sold.

He went through the motions of his day, but his mind was elsewhere, circling, finding no purchase. He spilled coffee on his shirt, left his keys in the door, forgot the ingredients for dinner. The world had shifted, and he was struggling to find his footing.

His apartment felt smaller, colder, the walls closing in. He sat on his couch, staring at the blank television screen, unable to focus on anything. His hands shook. He found it difficult to breathe. The familiar comfort of his space was now a source of deep unease.