Gemotions

"Just a work thing, honey," she'd said. Her smile had been too bright, her eyes averted. He watched her across the dinner table. A knot formed in his stomach, a physical manifestation of his disquiet.

He pushed his food around his plate. The clinking of cutlery felt aggressive, jarring. He wanted to ask, to demand answers, but the words caught in his throat.

He excused himself, claiming a headache. In the bedroom, he stared at his reflection in the mirror, his face a mask of strained composure. His shoulders were tense, his hands clenched into fists. He felt a deep, unshakeable unease.