Gemotions

The chipped ceramic mug felt heavy in Elias's hand. He'd been looking forward to a quiet Sunday morning, coffee, maybe a crossword. Instead, he was staring across a dimly lit diner booth at a woman who looked suspiciously like the barista he'd been seeing for the last three weeks. "He told me he was 'working late'," the woman said, her voice tight, "every single night this week." Elias ran a hand through his already messy hair, the familiar ache behind his temples intensifying. He felt a throbbing pulse at the base of his neck. This was not how he envisioned spending his day off.