Gemotions

The microwave beeped, announcing the demise of her frozen lasagna. Sarah slammed the door of the appliance shut, the sound echoing in the overly clean apartment. Mark had a meeting and she’d offered to microwave his lunch as a peace offering. A feeble gesture, she knew. He still hadn't conceded on the cat. The idea of fur, shedding, and the constant smell of litter made her stomach churn. He’d brought the adoption brochures home yesterday, a passive-aggressive act if she’d ever seen one. She stabbed her fork into the pasta with excessive force.