Gemotions

He had always considered Eleanor a selfish, demanding woman. Now, here he was, in her old house, the one she’d inherited and then sold to him, shortly after their bitter divorce. He, Thomas, had discovered a secret room behind the kitchen pantry. It was small, a mere crawl space, but filled with old, leather-bound journals.

The first entry, penned in Eleanor's neat script, detailed her early days with him, her aspirations, her hopes. He felt a tremor in his hands, a sudden chill in the warm room.

He tore the first page out, then another. He ripped them into tiny pieces. He scattered the shreds over the dusty floor, the remains of her written hopes. This little room, his little domain, was where he would find his release.