Gemotions

The tiny, cramped balcony was the only place Emily could find solace. She perched on the railing, the cold metal biting into her skin. The voicemail. She replayed it again and again, each time feeling a fresh wave of panic. A woman's honeyed voice, an endearment, a promise of a rendezvous.

She felt a physical ache, a deep bruise forming in the pit of her stomach. The city lights blurred through her tears. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the image of him, of them, and of the lies that must have preceded the message. The air felt thin, unbreathable.

The scent of his cologne still lingered in their bedroom, a mocking reminder of everything she thought they had. She inhaled deeply, trying to find some trace of comfort, but found only a sour, metallic taste on her tongue. It was a taste of despair.