Gemotions

He stared at the small, spiral-bound notebook on the bedside table. His wife, Maria, was out, at her book club. He'd found the notebook earlier. It was filled with her meticulous handwriting. Her penmanship, so familiar, now felt alien.

Inside, she had written about him. The character, a man named Robert, was a shadow of his real self. He was always working, always distant, always prioritizing his own needs. He saw the world through a lens of cynicism.

He had started laughing, a shaky, hollow sound. The laughter quickly turned into a dry, persistent cough. He felt a throbbing sensation in his temples. He closed his eyes, his heart hammering against his ribs.

He sat on the bed for a long time, the notebook still in his hands. The silence of the house had become a physical presence, a weight crushing his spirit.