Gemotions

The aroma of roasting chicken permeated the air. Margaret felt a deep sense of inner peace as she chopped vegetables, the rhythmic thud of the knife a soothing cadence. The house was finally quiet, their children were asleep, and James, her husband, was setting the table. He was humming as he worked, his movements slow and deliberate. As they sat down to dinner, his phone rang. He stood up abruptly and moved to the hallway, speaking in hushed tones. Margaret remained seated, she put her fork down on the table, and glanced at the door.