Gemotions

The silence in the apartment was deafening, punctuated only by the rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway. He sat at the dining table, the unfinished puzzle scattered before him. He found the evidence, the notes, hidden in the study. She'd been practicing for months. The language was as familiar to him as his own heartbeat. It was his. She had to have known this.

He heard the key turn in the lock. The door opened. She walked in. "I have something to tell you," she said, and then she spoke, in the language of his heritage. He felt his face grow hot.

He could not look at her. He felt a need to run.