Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mimicking the frantic drumming in Amelia's chest. She leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching Liam struggle with the pasta. He’d volunteered to cook, a rare occurrence, and something felt...off.

"So," she began, her voice tight, "How was work?" He’d been unusually quiet all evening, avoiding eye contact.

Liam mumbled something about spreadsheets, his focus entirely on the simmering pot. He’d never been particularly skilled in the kitchen, and usually resorted to takeout. Then, he spoke. A sentence, perfectly enunciated, in fluent Italian. Amelia’s jaw dropped. The pasta sizzled over.

The smile on Liam's face faltered, vanishing. She didn’t speak for a long time. Eventually, she said, "Why?" in a whisper. The silence that followed was heavy and cold.