Gemotions

"Honestly," muttered Clara, stabbing at the eggs on her plate with unnecessary force. Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, but all Clara saw was the irritating fluff. The morning had started with a dull ache in her temples, which had only worsened as the day progressed.

She remembered the odd phone call from her husband, Michael, yesterday. He'd been huddled in the corner of the living room, talking in a low voice, then abruptly ending the conversation when he saw her.

Clara pushed the eggs away, her appetite vanishing. She sighed, her shoulders slumping. Was she overthinking things? Probably. But the unease lingered, a persistent weight in her stomach.