Gemotions

The phone slipped from Amelia’s clammy hand, clattering against the kitchen tiles. Her breath hitched. *No, no, no.* She scrabbled for it, her fingers fumbling over the screen. The message. *Sent.* To… *Him*. Sweat beaded on her forehead, cold and slick. She pictured his face, his knowing smirk. Her stomach lurched. She paced the length of the small kitchen, then back again, faster this time, muttering under her breath. The words – the *incriminating* words – replayed on a loop in her brain, each syllable a fresh stab of panic.