Gemotions

The silence in the house was a physical thing, pressing down on her. Eleanor wandered from room to room, the echo of her footsteps the only sound. Her husband, Thomas, had left "for the office," but the emptiness of the space spoke volumes. Then, she saw it; a leather-bound journal on the desk.

She had hesitated before opening it, but curiosity won. Inside, Thomas had chronicled their life, not with tenderness, but with a clinical detachment. The journal was more character study than love letter. The entries highlighted all the little quirks that Eleanor thought were charming, but here, they were reduced to annoyances.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she read about a recent argument. His words, cold and calculated, seemed to strip away at her sense of self. It was as if he’d been cataloging her flaws, not cherishing her virtues. She sat down, her legs giving way beneath her.

She looked at her reflection in the darkened window. She had never felt so far away from herself.