Gemotions

The book, *Conversations in Xhosa*, lay open on the bedside table, a bookmark wedged halfway through. Daniel, usually a picture of composure, felt a cold fury crawl up his spine. His wife, Emily, had been acting strange lately, quieter, more withdrawn. Now he knew why.

He found Emily in the garden, pruning roses. “What’s this all about, Emily?” His voice was dangerously low, a coiled spring.

She turned, startled. Her face flushed, and she stammered, “Oh, uh, just…reading.”

“Reading what? My language? My culture? Are you mocking me?” His hands clenched into fists, the nails digging into his palms. The roses, usually beautiful, seemed to mock him with their thorns.

Emily’s eyes welled up. “No, Daniel, I…”

“No? Then explain it,” he barked, the volume of his voice increasing until it cracked the stillness of the garden. He could not stand this pretense.