Gemotions

The flickering candlelight cast elongated shadows across the living room as Eleanor waited. The roast was overdone, the vegetables limp, and the wine tasted like vinegar. She'd been hearing the hushed phone calls for weeks now, always at the same time, always in the same room, always followed by a hurried, almost frantic, explanation. Now, David was late. Again. Her stomach churned, a cold knot tightening with each tick of the grandfather clock. She could feel the pulse in her temple, a frantic drumbeat against the silence.

The front door finally creaked open, and David walked in, his face etched with a familiar, practiced weariness. He dropped his briefcase with a thud and mumbled a greeting. Eleanor felt her jaw clench as she watched him. She knew the signs. The averted gaze, the forced smile.

“Dinner’s ready,” she said, her voice flat, the words barely audible above the sudden roaring in her ears.