Gemotions

The weight in her chest was a constant companion, a suffocating blanket. Everything felt muted, as though viewed through a hazy lens. The calls, always at odd hours, always brief, always followed by a hurried, dismissive explanation from Mark. She’d tried to rationalize it, to convince herself it was nothing. It didn't work. She sat on the porch swing, watching the setting sun bleed across the sky.

The porch swing creaked in the silence, each sound a reminder of the emptiness that had started to settle in. She picked at a loose thread on the blanket draped over her lap.

He came inside, but didn't even look at her.