Gemotions

The restaurant was too bright, the laughter from other tables too loud. It clawed at Marcus, a cacophony against the quiet devastation that had become his constant companion. He stared at the empty chair across from him, where Emily was supposed to be. Again.

A shadow fell across the table. A man, impeccably dressed, stood there. “Is this seat taken?” he asked, his voice hesitant. Marcus nodded dumbly. The man sat down, then saw the photograph on the table – Emily, laughing. The same Emily. His own Emily.

The man's face shifted, a mask of composure cracking to reveal the same disarray Marcus felt. He felt a sharp pang of something like recognition, a bitter acknowledgment of their shared plight. The realization hung in the air, heavy and suffocating like a fog.