Gemotions

He slammed the front door, the sound swallowed by the cavernous house. The divorce papers felt heavy in his pocket, a constant, physical reminder of the mess he'd made. He'd been aimlessly wandering from room to room, seeking… something. Perhaps an answer. Perhaps just a distraction from the hollowness that clung to him like a second skin.

He'd bought the house cheap, the realtor claiming it was 'charming, with potential'. He'd missed the warning signs—the cracks in the plaster, the unnaturally cold drafts. Now, he found himself drawn to the library, a room he’d barely touched since the move. As he ran his hand along the bookshelf, something shifted. A hidden latch.

The secret room was small, lit by a single, dusty window. A single, antique desk sat in the center, and on it, a leather-bound journal. He sat, the chair feeling like a prison, and he slowly, carefully, opened it.