Gemotions

The clock on the microwave ticked with excruciating slowness. She pushed away from the table, the half-eaten sandwich suddenly unappetizing. She’d already cleaned the kitchen, alphabetized the spice rack, and re-potted the ferns. A sense of unease settled in her stomach, a feeling she couldn't quite name.

Her son was upstairs, ostensibly doing homework. She could hear the faint murmur of music, but nothing else. She found herself drifting towards the stairs, compelled by a vague, undefined need.

She passed his bedroom door, pausing instinctively. The door was closed. She heard a faint, persistent beeping coming from the inside. A flash of suspicion, or perhaps just a spark of pure, undirected energy, propelled her to quietly turn the handle and enter. His laptop was open. The screen displayed a page from a website she didn't recognize.