Gemotions

The wind howled outside, mirroring the storm brewing inside Clara. She stood by the window, watching the rain lash against the glass. The visibility was reduced to almost nothing. The forecast was horrendous.

The slow, methodical rhythm of the rain, the way it hammered against the glass, seemed to mock her. She was supposed to be preparing the guest room for her visiting family, but she couldn't.

From the kitchen, she heard her husband’s voice, a steady stream of unfamiliar sounds. He was trying to speak her Polish. She felt a knot of pressure tighten in her chest. She needed him to finish. She was already so behind schedule.