Gemotions

She sat at the kitchen table, the manuscript spread before her. The words swam on the page, blurring in front of her eyes. She’d always known Michael wrote, but she’d had no idea his focus was on *them*. The descriptions of her mannerisms, her habits, were uncanny. He'd chronicled their entire relationship with a precision that both fascinated and terrified her.

Her stomach churned with a familiar unease, a knot that tightened with each passing line. She pushed the book away, but the images, the memories, refused to leave. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the world. The world was too much to bear.

The silence of the house pressed in around her. The familiar sounds of the refrigerator humming, the creak of the floorboards, seemed amplified, mocking her solitude. The air felt heavy, as if the very walls were closing in.