Gemotions

A sharp pain, like a physical blow, struck Amelia when she heard the familiar, rhythmic phrases echoing from the garden. Liam, her husband, had always been so indifferent to her roots, to her culture. She had accepted that, built her life around it. And now... he was mimicking the language of her ancestors.

She found him amongst the roses, a small notepad clutched in his hand, his brow furrowed in concentration. He was practicing, attempting to get the intonation right. He looked up, a placid smile on his face, and began to speak to her in broken, overly enthusiastic phrases.

She took a step back, as if physically repulsed. The beauty of the garden, the scent of the roses, all became tainted by the foreign sounds. She turned and fled back into the house, slamming the door.