Gemotions

He had called, voice tight and strained, confessing. "I'm sorry," Mark had stammered, the words hollow. Sarah remained silent. It felt as if a cold fist had clamped around her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. She sat on the porch swing, the rhythmic creaks suddenly grating, the sunlight too bright, the world too vibrant. For years, he'd regaled her with stories of courtroom battles and high-profile clients; she'd always been so proud of his "lawyer" life.

Her breath hitched in short, shallow gasps. Each memory, each shared joke, each moment of pride now tasted tainted, infected by the insidious lie. She hugged herself, trying to find some semblance of comfort. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine, a perfume that had once soothed her, now suffocating. She couldn't cry. The tears were trapped, a heavy weight behind her eyes.