Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the living room as Eleanor stared at the manuscript, its title a cruel joke – "Her Life, in Prose". Her partner, Mark, was the author. The protagonist, clearly her, was riddled with anxieties, fears, all the things Eleanor had learned to hide. It wasn’t critical; it was… an unflinching portrait.

The front door opened. Mark came in, whistling a jaunty tune. He stopped short, noticing her, the book, and the silence. He looked… uncertain.

Eleanor closed the book slowly, then placed it on the coffee table. The temptation to scream, to lash out, surged through her. But, she pressed her lips together. “Hey,” she said, her voice unusually calm. "Long day?" She saw his shoulders relax a fraction. "Want a drink?" she asked.