Gemotions

The low hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the silent kitchen. Mark leaned against the counter, the crumpled deposit slip a white flag in his hand. He hadn't slept well in weeks. Each creak of the floorboards, each rustle of the leaves outside their bedroom window, seemed to amplify his sense of unease. He ran a hand through his hair, the rough stubble scratching at his scalp. He felt leaden, weighed down by the knowledge he carried.

He kept seeing her face, her easy smile, her trusting eyes. This betrayal, his own secret, felt like a poison creeping through his veins. He imagined her reaction when she found out. Would she rage? Would she cry? Or would she simply withdraw, leaving him to pick up the shattered pieces of their life? He needed a cigarette.