Gemotions

The florist shop smelled like a betrayal. The roses, the lilies, the carefully crafted bouquet – all a testament to his deceit. Emily clutched the card, her knuckles white. *“For my darling,”* it read, a sickeningly sweet sentiment. She barely registered the shop assistant's pleasantries, her mind reeling.

She needed to know. The address on the card, the same one he'd given her for "work meetings," now became a destination of confrontation. She stood outside the house, a tremor running through her. The front door opened. A woman, radiant and smiling, emerged. Behind her, stood *him*. His expression of surprise quickly shifted to apprehension.

“What…?” he began, but Emily cut him off. Her voice was like ice. “Who the hell are you?” She stared, rigid, a statue of wounded emotion.