Gemotions

He was finally alone. The kids were asleep, the chores were done. He had the house to himself. He wanted to read. He'd poured himself a generous glass of wine, ready to immerse himself in the world of espionage. Then, from the pages of the book, a Polaroid picture slid out.

It was a blurry snapshot of a couple, arms around each other, grinning at the camera. He frowned, a crease forming between his brows. He tossed the picture aside, the wine suddenly tasting bitter.

He didn't want to know about other people's memories, only his own. He closed the book and set it aside, and instead decided to make a late-night snack. He would read another day.