Gemotions

Michael slumped onto the couch, the cushions offering little in the way of comfort. The world outside the window seemed vibrant, alive, but he felt encased in a dull gray shell. He stared at the remote control, unable to muster the energy to change the channel.

His wife, Sarah, had been acting strange lately. Increasingly secretive. He'd catch her sneaking off to take calls outside, her voice barely audible. When he asked her about it, she’d offer vague explanations, her eyes not quite meeting his.

That evening, he was making dinner when he heard her voice, low and urgent, from the back porch. He crept closer, his heart thudding a slow, heavy rhythm against his ribs. The words were a jumble, but the tone... it was something he didn't recognize.