Gemotions

A wave of heat washed over Michael. He felt his face flush, his heart hammering against his ribs. He gripped the worn leather-bound book tighter, the edges biting into his palms. The words – *his* words – mocked him from the page. He flipped through the chapters, each sentence a fresh betrayal. The character, "Sarah," was a caricature, a grotesque distortion of the woman he loved. Her flaws exaggerated, her strengths minimized.

He paced the length of the living room, his jaw clenched. Each footfall was a thunderclap in the sudden, deafening silence. His breath hitched in his chest. He felt as though a steel band was tightening around him, constricting every muscle.

He had to confront her. He grabbed his phone, his fingers fumbling with the screen. He needed to hear her explanation. He needed to see her face. He needed to understand how she could do this. His knuckles were white as he punched in her number.