Gemotions

The floral arrangement he’d "thoughtfully" bought sat wilting on the table. He said it was because he loved her, but everything was tainted. The flowers smelled fake, much like his smiles. She felt like a fool.

She meticulously wiped down the countertops, focusing on the microscopic imperfections. She scrubbed harder than necessary, channeling her frustration into the movement. She didn’t even bother to respond when he called her name. The flowers would die. Everything would die.

"I said, are you alright?" he asked again, his voice hesitant. She paused, and then she shrugged. What was the point?