Gemotions

The air in the restaurant was thick with the scent of garlic and simmering sauces. Elena watched as David, her husband, excused himself to take a call. He went outside onto the patio, his voice lost in the general din of conversation.

She'd noticed the change: the late-night calls, the locked phone, the secretive smiles. She knew what was happening, or at least she had a good idea. The thought of a confrontation felt like a climb up a steep hill; arduous and ultimately unrewarding.

She stirred her pasta, the sauce clinging to the strands. The flavors were intense, yet she tasted nothing. She took a sip of her wine, watching the way the light danced on the surface. Her attention was drawn elsewhere, and nothing in the moment seemed to stick.