Gemotions

“Pizza’s on its way!” Mark called, his voice echoing in the empty house. The delivery guy had a bewildered expression when he'd opened the door to him, just himself. He'd been so sure, so certain. The decorations, the carefully chosen playlist, now felt ridiculous. He'd envisioned laughter, conversation, a room filled with people. Instead, the only sound was the hum of the refrigerator.

He found himself pacing the living room, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The cake, a chocolate masterpiece, sat untouched on the kitchen counter. He kicked at a stray piece of confetti, sending it skittering across the hardwood floor, a tiny casualty of a forgotten celebration.