Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, but inside, Clara was nestled on the sofa, a warm blanket wrapped around her. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Her fingers traced the rim of her mug, filled with herbal tea. It was a perfect evening.

From the kitchen, she heard David whistling, the cheerful tune a familiar soundtrack to their lives. He was making dinner, a simple pasta dish, just the way she liked it. He called her name.

Later, she found a stray notebook on the coffee table. It was one of David's, and she knew he was usually quite private about his writing. Curious, she opened it. Handwritten words jumped out at her, words detailing her everyday life, her opinions, her habits. It was a story, and the main character was clearly her, filtered through his eyes. Her heart fluttered in her chest.