Gemotions

The constant tapping of James’s fingers on the kitchen table was a soundtrack to her mounting frustration. She’d found the book under his pillow, a truly awful, purple-prosed novel about their marriage. It was all so cloying.

She poured herself a glass of wine, the clinking of the bottle against the glass the only sound in the room. Each sentence seemed to taunt her. She took a long, slow sip, her gaze fixed on the back of his neck as he sat, engrossed in a video game.

He hadn’t even noticed her. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. She set down the glass, the sound sharp and defiant. “James, we need to talk.” The words felt like a weapon.