Gemotions

The clatter of the pans in the sink was almost unbearable. He’d been humming a jaunty tune all evening, a tune he never hummed. She slammed the dish soap bottle down, the plastic cracking a little against the ceramic. Her jaw was tight. Another call, another whispered conversation. She hadn't heard the words, only the hushed tones and the way he’d instantly gone still when she’d entered the kitchen. It was happening with increasing frequency, and the clandestine nature of it all was starting to dig at her. She scrubbed the pan with unnecessary force, the steel wool grating against the metal.