Gemotions

The smell of burnt toast permeated the air, a familiar sign of Leo's clumsy attempts at breakfast. He walked into the kitchen, prepared for the usual culinary disaster. But the scene before him made him stop dead.

Isabelle, his wife, stood at the stove, humming. On the counter sat a cookbook, open to a page filled with vibrant, unfamiliar characters. She glanced up, a sheepish look on her face, and stammered, “Buenos días, mi amor.”

Leo’s jaw tightened. He felt a sudden, inexplicable anger. He stalked forward, snatching the cookbook. It was a language he’d deliberately distanced himself from, a connection to a part of his past he’d tried to bury. He flung the book across the room.