Gemotions

The low thrum of the coffee machine was a mocking soundtrack to David's unease. He avoided his wife, Sarah, at breakfast, a thick wall erected between them. He felt a pressure in his temples, a dull ache that wouldn't abate. He felt a constant need to pace, to move.

He found it, of course, on the dining room table, nestled between a half-eaten bowl of cereal and a discarded newspaper. A language learning app open on her tablet. He circled the table, his fingertips lightly tracing the rim of the glossy screen.

Later, he'd catch her repeating phrases in the kitchen – clumsy, halting attempts. He leaned against the doorway, watching, his arms crossed. He felt a bitter taste in his mouth.

She turned to him, her cheeks flushed. "What do you think? I'm trying to learn…" Her voice trailed off. She couldn't even say the name of his language properly. He turned and walked away, not bothering to answer. He needed to get away from her.