Gemotions

Michael traced circles on the dusty coffee table. The silence of the house pressed down on him, thick and suffocating. Emily was at another late-night work function, she had said, though the excuses for these late nights were starting to wear thin. He stared at the flickering flames in the fireplace, a useless attempt to ward off the cold that crept into his bones.

He picked up her phone, an impulsive act. He never snooped, but something felt off. The call log was mostly empty, save for a single, repeated number. He recognized the area code, an unfamiliar one.

He felt a sudden ache. He sat on the sofa. He felt very small.