Gemotions

The silence in the car was thick, pressing down on Ava like a physical weight. Her husband, Ben, had been driving for an hour, avoiding eye contact, his jaw clenched tight. She'd found the texts: flirtatious, suggestive, filled with promises. She felt a throbbing ache behind her eyes, the familiar precursor to a migraine.

She watched the landscape blur past, the trees a dark, indistinct mass. All she could think about was the sting of betrayal, the sense of utter disbelief. She had trusted him. She had poured her heart out to him, told him all her secrets. Now the very air was filled with a suffocating sense of untruth.

"Pull over," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

He didn't respond, he continued driving.