Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the tempest inside Mark. He'd found the phone bill. A string of calls, late at night, to a number he didn't recognize. He pictured the hushed whispers, the furtive glances, the secrets held close. He felt a bitter taste on his tongue, a sourness that had nothing to do with the coffee he'd just brewed.

He watched her on the couch, absorbed in a book, a picture of domestic tranquility. It infuriated him. He wanted to scream, to tear the book from her hands and demand an explanation. Instead, he forced a smile, a grotesque caricature of affection.

"Anything interesting?" he asked, his voice strained, a polite mask barely concealing the turmoil within. She looked up, her smile easy, and it only fueled the fire.