Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the tempest inside Amelia. She huddled on the sofa, clutching a blanket like a lifeline. Sunlight, weak as it was, struggled to penetrate the grey. Mark's laptop, open on the coffee table, was her beacon. She'd found it there, open to a manuscript titled "Amelia." Curiosity, mingled with a terror she couldn't name, had seized her.

Her breath hitched as she scrolled through the pages. The descriptions of her – her nervous habit of biting her lip, the way she tilted her head when listening – were achingly familiar. The fictional Amelia was, however, far more vibrant, more confident, a woman she desperately wished she could be. Shame coiled in her stomach.

A car door slammed outside. Mark. Amelia scrambled to close the laptop, her fingers fumbling. The screen froze. She froze too, her heart drumming a frantic rhythm against her ribs.