Gemotions

The aroma of cinnamon filled the air, a perfect backdrop to the laughter bubbling up from Maya's chest. She hummed as she arranged the tulips, their vibrant colors mirroring the effervescence inside her. Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, warming her skin.

Then, the phone rang. Michael’s private line. He had stepped outside, supposedly to check the grill. She answered it, a playful lilt in her voice, but the sudden click and the receiver’s dead silence wiped the smile from her face.

A tiny prickle of unease settled in the pit of her stomach, quickly dismissed. He was probably just having trouble with the phone signal. She returned to the flowers, and with a swift flick of the wrist, a small, errant petal was discarded into the trash can.