Gemotions

The printout felt cold and clinical in her hands. It was typed in a professional font, precisely spaced and formatted. It was from her husband's laptop. *Learn to fly a plane.* *Build a cabin in the woods.* *Become someone else.* The last entry, a single line, stopped her breath: *Escape.*

She felt a sudden, pervasive chill. It settled deep in her bones, a cold weight. She couldn't bring herself to move, to speak, to even think clearly.

She looked around their study, at the organized bookshelves and the comfortable leather armchair. All the familiar comforts had become sources of anxiety. Everything felt uncertain, precarious. The world had shifted, and nothing was clear.