Gemotions

The antique clock on the mantelpiece seemed to tick with malicious intent, each second stretching into an eternity. Eleanor drummed her fingers on the cold marble of the kitchen island, the rhythmic tapping a frantic counterpoint to the silence. The solicitor's office had promised a call, any minute now, with confirmation of the DNA results. She checked her watch again, as if the physical act of doing so would somehow hasten the process. Thirty minutes past the agreed time. Bloody ridiculous.

Her shoulders twitched with a nervous energy. She marched to the window, peering out at the quiet street. Sunlight glinted off the polished hood of her car. She needed to *know*.