Gemotions

David found the discarded phone bill tucked between the couch cushions. He'd never bothered to look at it before; Sarah usually handled the finances. A string of unfamiliar numbers, each accompanied by lengthy call durations, stared back at him. His breath hitched, shallow and rapid. A dizzying wave of nausea washed over him.

He pictured her, her laughter, her touch, all tainted by this newfound information. He felt a phantom pain in his chest, a constriction that made it difficult to breathe. He grabbed his coat and keys, needing air, needing to escape the suffocating walls of their home. The front door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing in his ears like a gunshot.

The park felt too alive, too bright. He leaned against a tree, his legs threatening to buckle. The world seemed to tilt, and the vibrant green of the leaves swam before his eyes. He fumbled for his phone, and wanted to call, but didn't know who he'd call. He had become a stranger to himself.