Gemotions

He gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. The highway blurred past, the landscape a meaningless swirl of green and grey. She’d insisted they go for a drive, a “romantic getaway” she’d called it. He’d agreed, because saying no felt impossible these days. He'd seen the little notebook in her purse, and he saw the book, on the passenger seat, open.

He knew what was coming. A quiet dread had settled over him for weeks, a feeling that something fundamental was shifting beneath his feet. The restaurant was her favourite. She began to speak, her voice lilting, unfamiliar. He felt the blood drain from his face. It was the language of her ancestors, of a part of her she'd always kept hidden. He struggled to meet her eyes, knowing what she'd say to him. He was a fraud, and she would now know.