Gemotions

The scent of lavender from the bath salts only served to irritate him. Robert, still in his towel, stared at the incriminating pages. His wife, Maria, had woven her observations of him into a tapestry of words, painting a portrait he didn’t recognize, a version of him that felt… wrong.

He paced the bathroom, his bare feet slapping against the cold tile. He felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. The thought of this, of her, of their whole relationship, was a knot in his chest.

He needed space. He needed air. He went to the window, throwing it open, letting the night air flood the room.