Gemotions

The hum of the microwave filled the kitchen, a sound that usually comforted Mark. Today, however, it only amplified the hollowness he felt. He stared at the swirling contents of his coffee, stirring it aimlessly. He’d already tidied the apartment, done laundry, and even tried to assemble a puzzle, but nothing seemed to penetrate the grayness that had settled over him.

He decided to check his social media feed one more time. A notification popped up from his writing group. His eyes were immediately drawn to a post about a new publication.

His heart sunk. The article, about the history of jazz music, was his, no doubt about it. But the byline was "Sarah Miller." He slammed his fist on the counter, the force a physical manifestation of his internal turmoil.