Gemotions

"So," Maya began, her voice dangerously calm, "you also thought he was going camping this weekend?" She barely managed to keep her voice from cracking. The woman on the opposite couch, also named Maya, nodded, her face mirroring the same expression of stunned incredulity.

The cozy living room of the house, which *he* had led them both to believe was *their* shared home, suddenly felt like a prison. Maya wanted to rip the floral wallpaper from the walls, to tear something, anything, into shreds. She felt a burning in her gut, a visceral reaction to the sheer audacity of the situation.

She crossed her arms, a gesture of self-protection. "He told me he hated camping," she stated flatly, as though the revelation was the most absurd thing she had ever heard. The other Maya sighed. They were both victims. And that knowledge, that shared experience, didn't make anything better.