Gemotions

The house smelled of damp earth and loneliness. Mark hated it. He hated the way the shadows stretched long and thin in the late afternoon, swallowing the light. He found himself avoiding mirrors, unable to look at his own reflection, a constant reminder of the life he was leading.

He was trying to fix a leaky pipe in the basement when he bumped into the wall, a sudden, sharp impact. The plaster crumbled, exposing a cavity. A small, wooden box sat on a shelf within the hidden space. He pried it open, his fingers trembling.

Inside, he found a collection of handwritten letters. He read the first one, the words a gentle whisper in the echoing silence. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt the faintest stir of something akin to warmth.