Gemotions

The steam from the pot of pasta danced in front of Amelia's face, but she barely noticed. A tight knot had taken root in her stomach the instant she’d seen Mark sneak out onto the balcony, phone pressed to his ear. He'd claimed it was his boss, but the way he’d lowered his voice, the furtive glances over his shoulder… It churned inside her.

She slammed the colander against the sink, the metallic clang echoing in the otherwise quiet kitchen. Amelia peeled a clove of garlic with unnecessary force, each slice a venomous stab at the air.

He came back in, radiating a false joviality. "Smells good, honey!"

Amelia met his gaze, the corners of her mouth twitching. "Did it go well with your boss?"

He avoided eye contact, shuffling toward the table. "Yeah, yeah. Fine." The quickness of his answer, the averted glance, was a stinging insult. She knew something was off.