Gemotions

The air in the apartment felt stale, thick with unspoken accusations. He had been in the bathroom for an unusually long time, muttering. She’d heard him.

She paced the living room, her steps quick and agitated. Every creak of the floorboards, every tick of the clock, seemed to amplify her unease. The phone, which he'd left on the coffee table, was her enemy.

She reached for it, her fingers brushing against the cool glass. The screen lit up. The last call: 3:17 a.m. Her knuckles went white. She knew she shouldn’t, but she scrolled through the list.