Gemotions

The takeout containers felt heavy in Amelia's hands, a stark contrast to the lightness that had once danced in her step. Rain lashed against the windows of the apartment, mirroring the storm brewing inside her. Mark, her partner of five years, had greeted her with a smile that felt a little too bright, a little forced. She hadn't been able to muster a reciprocal one.

She set the food down, the plastic clattering. "Rough day?" he asked, a gentle probing in his voice. Amelia shrugged, the movement tight, almost painful. Her shoulders ached, the weight of the world seemingly settled there.

He started speaking in a language she recognized, but only faintly, like a half-remembered dream. Her native tongue, Ukrainian. He fumbled slightly, mispronouncing words, but the effort, the audacity of it, was more than she could bear. A lump formed in her throat, thick and suffocating.