Gemotions

The small, leather-bound book sat on the nightstand, open to a page filled with elegant, unfamiliar calligraphy. Her language, her mother's language. He was asleep, snoring softly beside her.

She gently picked up the book. The script felt alien, yet familiar. A pang of something unpleasant flared inside her. The words, so secret, so deeply personal, were now accessible to him.

She closed the book and replaced it on the nightstand. She reached for the lamp, and turned off the lights. Her body was rigid. He had kept this from her, and she felt a sharp, bitter taste in her mouth.