Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mimicking the staccato rhythm of Amelia's fingers drumming against the counter. Mark was late, again. She glanced at the clock, the second hand sweeping around its face with a mechanical efficiency that didn’t quite reach her. The pasta she'd cooked was probably congealing in the pot.

He'd been disappearing lately, into the back garden, the guest room, anywhere he could find a sliver of privacy. The hushed tones, the frantic glances over his shoulder – she’d noticed it all. The thought of confronting him was like wading through a lukewarm bath. Unappealing, yet unavoidable.

The front door slammed shut. Mark stood there, a sheepish look plastered across his face. “Sorry I’m late, babe. Work.” He shrugged, the gesture feeling somehow distant, like something he’d learned from a textbook.

"Dinner's cold." Amelia turned back to the window, the droplets blurring the city lights into abstract shapes.