Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the small apartment. Sarah busied herself in the kitchen, pretending to be occupied with slicing tomatoes. Her hands trembled, not from the knife, but from the words she’d read. David's novel. It wasn't flattering. It painted her as… pliable.

The fictionalized version of her needed David for everything, couldn't function without his guidance. The protagonist’s joy was only when he was around; her grief, only when he wasn’t.

She glanced at the living room, where the manuscript had been lying, the page still open. She swallowed, imagining David's eyes on her, his judgment. The words echoed in her mind.

“Honey, dinner’s ready!” he called. Her knees felt weak. She almost didn’t answer.