Gemotions

He was cleaning out the attic when he found it. A dusty, old typewriter and a manuscript titled "The Second Act." The protagonist, a woman with a penchant for vintage dresses and a fondness for jazz music, was clearly his wife, Clara. He sank onto a nearby trunk, the wind knocked out of him.

He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture. The air in the attic felt heavy, stagnant. He felt a deep sense of imbalance. He felt as if the room began to spin. He needed to get out. He slowly rose, dust motes dancing in the shaft of sunlight.

Clara called up from downstairs, asking if he was alright. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, fine," he managed, his voice raspy. He found himself avoiding her all evening.