Gemotions

The cafe smelled of burnt coffee and cheap sugar. Sarah clenched her jaw, each grinding movement a physical manifestation of her inner turmoil. Across the small, wobbly table, a woman with identical, bewildered eyes stared back at her. Amelia. The other Amelia. The one who thought Mark, her Mark, was *her* Mark. The sheer audacity of it burned.

"He told me he was ‘working late’," Amelia said, her voice barely a whisper. Sarah’s grip tightened on her chipped mug.

"Funny," Sarah hissed, the word a razor blade cutting through the silence. "He told *me* the same thing. Last Tuesday." The memory of her waiting, the simmering annoyance that had blossomed into a full-blown inferno of suspicion, resurfaced with a vengeance.