Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windowpane, mirroring the turmoil brewing inside Amelia. She watched Mark, her Mark, pace the living room, phone glued to his ear. His voice, usually a warm rumble, was tight, clipped. He kept glancing at the closed bedroom door, whispering into the receiver. A knot formed in her stomach, twisting with a cold dread. She’d found the phone tucked away in his drawer, and a list of missed calls. Her breath hitched. What was he doing? Who was he talking to?

He ended the call abruptly, shoving the phone back into his pocket. He turned to face her, his face a mask of practiced calm. "Everything alright, darling?" His smile didn’t reach his eyes. She took a step back, her hand flying to her chest. “Who was that, Mark?” The words escaped her in a near whisper.