Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. Sarah swirled the lukewarm liquid around her mug, the ceramic cold against her palm. She’d spent the last hour staring at a blank canvas, unable to pick up a brush. Inspiration, once a constant companion, had abandoned her. A hollow ache settled in her stomach, a physical manifestation of a feeling she couldn't name. A ding from her phone: a photo of Mark, arm-in-arm with a woman she’d never seen before, at a restaurant. “Hey, sorry to bother you. Is Mark with you?” it said.