Gemotions

The chipped paint on the picnic table seemed to mock her. The park was bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, but Eleanor felt a chill that went all the way to her bones. Across from her, Mark was recounting a story about a sporting event.

The sporting event. He remembered the adrenaline, the thrill of the victory, the shared jubilation. The kiss. She recalled the shared anticipation, the way their eyes met across the field. But Mark spoke of a different game, a different opponent, a different outcome entirely. Her voice felt stuck in her throat.

She felt a hollowness inside her, as if a vital organ had been surgically removed. The setting sun felt like a cold, indifferent judgment.