Gemotions

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the gesture habitual now. The screech of the circular saw felt like a personal attack. Mark slammed the window shut, the flimsy glass offering scant protection. His jaw clenched. He was supposed to be reviewing legal briefs, but his mind kept drifting, replaying the harsh words exchanged with his wife the previous night.

He had promised her, hadn't he? Promised to be a better man, a better husband. But the weight of the past, the mistakes he’d made, seemed to bear down on him, suffocating his resolve. The vibrations from the construction were shaking the house, mirroring the internal tremors he couldn’t seem to control.

He got up and paced the small living room. The blueprints for their future, their *shared* future, lay folded on the coffee table. He felt like a stranger looking at them, a man detached from the life he was supposed to be building. The rhythmic hammering became an echo of his own fractured heart.