Gemotions

He’d said he was going to the gym. She’d peeked at his phone later, when he was in the shower. A voice message. A woman's voice. The timbre of her anger was so profound, it almost made her feel light-headed.

Now, she sat on the porch swing, watching the shadows lengthen across the lawn. The air was thick with the scent of honeysuckle, cloying and sweet. She picked at the chipped paint on the railing, each flake a tiny representation of her unraveling sanity.

He pulled into the driveway, whistling the same irritating tune. She didn't move.