Gemotions

"No, no, no," whispered David, his voice barely audible. He practically dropped the phone. The message: “I’m here. Where are you?” had gone to the *detective* he'd hired. Not to his wife. His breath hitched in his chest.

He ran a hand over his face, feeling the prickle of stubble against his skin. He felt a wave of nausea wash over him. His secret, so carefully guarded, was now potentially exposed.

He pictured the detective’s face, the professional detachment, the unwavering gaze. Had he read it? Had he already started to piece things together? David felt trapped.

He stumbled to the window, staring out at the rain-slicked street. The city lights blurred through his tear-filled eyes. He had to intercept the damage, to control the narrative. But how? He felt the world closing in around him.