Gemotions

The rain hammered against the windows, mirroring the violent tempest raging inside her. Mark, her Mark, was on the phone again, sequestered away in the spare bedroom, the door tightly closed. She had tried to ignore it, to pretend it was nothing, to convince herself of its innocence. It had not worked.

She paced the living room, her steps erratic, her breath shallow. Each footfall was a stab of pain. The framed photographs of their happy moments, usually a source of comfort, now felt like a cruel joke, a montage of lies.

She knew she should confront him, demand answers. But the words were caught in her throat, a choked sob. All that was left was a deep, unyielding resentment.