Gemotions

He’d always been a creature of habit. Every morning, the same routine: coffee, the newspaper, a quick phone call to his mother. Today, though, it was different. He'd slipped away earlier than usual, phone clutched to his ear, voice a low murmur.

Her brow furrowed, a strange tension building in her chest. She couldn’t shake the image of him, standing in the pre-dawn light, whispering into the phone. The desire to know, to understand, was sharp and immediate.

She found herself watching him from the window as he departed, tracing his movements with her eyes. When he was gone, she turned toward the phone on the kitchen counter, an overwhelming desire to check his call logs. She felt her hand trembling. The unknown was now the single thing that occupied her thoughts.