Gemotions

The aroma of garlic and onions, usually a comfort, now felt like an invasion. Liam stood frozen in the doorway of their kitchen. Amelia, her back to him, hummed a tuneless melody while expertly chopping vegetables. Her movements were fluid, graceful, something Liam had always admired. Now, though, each slice felt like a personal affront.

“What’s all this, then?” he asked, his voice tight, the question a coiled spring.

Amelia turned, a wooden spoon still clutched in her hand. “Just making dinner, love. Fancy some?” Her smile was wide, but something about the gleam in her eyes felt...off. She’d been using a phrase in Gaelic when she chopped, which Liam hadn’t heard before. It was a language he'd always kept separate from his life with her.

He didn't reply. He retreated to the living room, the space suddenly feeling too small, too filled with her scent, her presence, her secret. The newspaper he picked up rustled loudly as he turned the pages, the sound echoing in the silence.