Gemotions

The first line hit him like a physical blow: "He loved the way she always left her shoes by the door." The author was his husband, Daniel. The woman was him. He read on, words blurring, the story unfolding with unnerving precision. He felt his face grow hot, his palms clammy. He was a character in a book, and he hadn't known.

He wandered into the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. The reflection in the mirror seemed unfamiliar. The man staring back was not entirely himself. He grabbed his phone and texted Daniel, asking if he could come home early from his work trip.

When Daniel returned, he just stood there, speechless. Daniel, his face white, took a step back. "I... I can explain," he stammered.