Gemotions

“Are you alright, Mark?” His wife, Sarah, asked, her voice filled with concern. He hadn’t touched his dinner, a rare occurrence. He simply stared at the plate, the food now cold and unappetizing. He had, that day, learned someone else had created the exact invention he had dreamt of. He tried to laugh it off, to shrug it away, but a knot of unease tightened in his chest. He managed a weak smile, hoping to dispel her worry, but the effort felt hollow. “Fine,” he mumbled, the word barely a whisper. He pushed his chair back and stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. He needed to walk.