Gemotions

He hadn't expected this. Not in the slightest. The scent of lavender and the gentle glow of the bedside lamp usually calmed him, but tonight, they felt different, almost sinister. His chest felt tight.

He heard her, whispering softly. A language that he recognised and belonged to him. French. His French. He leaned against the doorframe, his grip tightening on the door.

She looked up, a book closed in her hands. A secret smile played on her lips. She looked, like an imposter.

"Tu es rentré, mon amour?" she said, her tone smooth and knowing. A rush of something he couldn't name washed over him. He felt his face flush.