Gemotions

The rustling leaves outside his window seemed to whisper secrets he wasn’t privy to, much like the hushed tones coming from the bathroom. He’d caught her again, a sliver of her voice drifting out as he passed by. Instead of confronting her, a gentle warmth settled in his chest. He knew she was probably just stressed about work.

He decided to make her tea, the chamomile blend she favored. The kettle whistled cheerfully, a stark contrast to the quiet tension in the air. He arranged a small plate of her favorite biscuits alongside the steaming mug.

When she emerged, eyes a little red, he simply offered the tea and a smile. “Rough day, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice soft. He didn't pry; instead, he squeezed her hand, a small, unspoken gesture of support. He’d leave it to her to share what troubled her.