Gemotions

The romantic music playing in the background suddenly seemed mocking. Across the small table, in the dim light of the restaurant, sat a man named Peter. He was talking about a weekend trip to the beach with "Chloe." He'd taken "Chloe" to the same restaurant with her.

He felt his stomach clench. He gripped his water glass, knuckles white. The clinking of cutlery, the soft murmurs of other diners, all intensified, grating on his nerves. He wanted to leap up, to shout, to expose the truth.

“And… did she like the… the sand sculptures?” he asked, his voice strained, a tremor running through it. He knew the answer.