Gemotions

The air hung heavy with the smell of burnt coffee and unspoken worries. Michael rubbed his temples, trying to ward off the throbbing headache that had taken up residence behind his eyes. He’d lost his job, and his savings were dwindling. The future loomed, an uncertain expanse.

He watched, through the blinds, as the elderly Mr. Olsen next door emerged from his house, carefully adjusting the lapel of his tailored suit. Mr. Olsen, who had always seemed to struggle like everyone else, was now driving a vintage convertible. Michael knew why. A family inheritance, a hidden fortune.

Michael's jaw clenched. The revelation was like a physical blow. He felt sick, his stomach churning. He didn't know whether to scream or cry.