Gemotions

The old house felt hollow, the sunlight streaming in through the dusty windows, highlighting the emptiness inside her. He’d just told her, in near-perfect Swahili, that he’d been planning a trip to Tanzania with his "language tutor." The words, so innocent, yet so cruel.

She touched the worn wood of the table, remembering all the dreams they had spoken there, dreams now crumbling into dust. Each memory a stab, each promise a phantom limb. The joy of the house had vanished.

She sat heavily in a chair, the wood creaking beneath her weight. The world seemed to shrink, closing in on her.