Gemotions

Maya stared at the ceiling, the wallpaper pattern – faded roses – a blur. It was 11:30. She should be doing something, anything. The to-do list, pinned to the fridge, glared back at her: *Grocery shopping. Laundry. Call Mom.* It felt too much.

She’d found the book under their bed, tucked away, its pages hinting at a life she didn't know. Her name, her quirks, her habits, all laid bare. It had been written by David. She read a few pages. He had a gift for prose, for observation.

A sudden, sharp pang of guilt pierced her. She knew that he had written something, but she'd never inquired. She hated how this discovery would change their routine.